Hero
by J-Fire1
Summary: Erica and Boyd are still missing. Isaac has weeded his way into Scott's life. And Stiles is left on the sidelines-probably where he belongs. But when a new threat blows in to Beacon Hills, Derek shows up on Stiles' doorstep asking for help and maybe something more. A/N: As of 27 Feb 2013 this story is complete. Also, you can now find this story on AO3!
1. Chapter 1

For some reason Isaac Lahey started hanging around a lot more. Maybe it was the loss of half his pack that made him lonely, or maybe it was the fact that he and Scott had some sort of weird wolf connection going on. Scott, too, seemed to revel in his new friend since Allison broke up with him—again. They were awfully chummy for two people who had barely interacted before becoming werewolves.

And it left Stiles in a weird position. He didn't exactly _dislike_ Isaac, but he didn't exactly like him either. The guy was mentally unstable on his best days, for Christ's sake. Stiles honestly did not know why Scott took such a liking to him. Moreover, Stiles honestly did not know how their relationship reached such heights in so short a time that it ended up pushing Stiles right into the shadow's of Scott's life.

And it had happened before Stiles even realized it was happening. One second they were practicing lacrosse on the field, all smiles and "stop using your wolfy powers because it's not fair" expletives and the next Stiles was on the sidelines watching as Scott and Isaac high-five on the field, congratulating each other, and not even bothering to glance his way.

Some part of Stiles knew that it was because Scott shared something with Isaac that he couldn't with Stiles. They were both teenagers living a troubled life with a troubling secret and both trying to manage without killing someone. No matter how much Stiles wanted to be there for Scott, he couldn't match Isaac in actual experience. But these simple truths didn't soften the bitter aftertaste of _third wheel_. Nor did they cushion him from being sidelined.

Worse yet, it wasn't like Stiles could do something about it. His best friend was happy—who was he to spoil that? Even if he did feel like he was losing his best friend, he didn't have the right to ruin things. But it's not like Stiles didn't want to. It's not like he didn't want to march up and tell that blue-eyed puppy to beat it. He wanted to. But that's not what friends do. And Isaac doesn't deserve that. It might send him down some wolf-psychotic spiral, and Stiles didn't really want to be within clawing range of that mess.

Stiles thought about these things whenever there was a spare minute in his brain between homework, school, practice, and in all the dull moments. Dark feelings of sadness and frustration crept up and pinned him down making him remember all the good times he and Scott had growing up, how they had become like brothers, and how they had always stayed friends no matter what. Stiles wondered if this was the time that everyone always warns about. _Eventually people grow apart. Things change._

Well, he didn't want things to change. He wanted them to stay firmly in place. Even when Scott spent all his time with Allison, Stiles always knew that Scott was still his best friend. But why was it different this time? It's not like he was dating Isaac—he was still in love with Allison. Scott was just making a new friend. So why why why was this happening?

Whatever force was behind this, Stiles didn't know. And he ended up spending as much time as possible keeping himself occupied so those dark thoughts didn't creep in and threaten to suck him down. He worked extra long on his homework, checked out piles of books from the library, reread old books, watched all six seasons of _Doctor Who _on Netflix, caught up on _Game of Thrones_, beat _Skyward Sword,_ started a blog detailing his pop culture adventures, did a massive _Buffy_ rewatch, and pretty much spent every other second trying not to think too hard about reality. But at night, when he tried to sleep, Stiles felt the loneliness in full force. A deep ache in the center of his chest. He should have tried to make friends other than Scott these past years of his life.

This was probably the reason why Stiles found himself sitting by himself at home on the first day of the winter holidays. Normally, he and Scott would spend the day playing video games in their underwear, but not this day. He hadn't even thought about Scott until the sun went down. And that was when Stiles realized he wasn't just lonely—he was very much alone.

It was strange sensation—not actually having anything resembling a social life. And Stiles wondered if it was partially his fault. Maybe he could have said something or done something to keep himself invested in Scott's life. Maybe he could have tried harder to _like_ Isaac. Because it wasn't entirely Scott's fault, Stiles realized. He let himself drift away. But how could he fix that? He and Scott barely talked anymore and only during school. Would it be too awkward to just call him up and ask to hang out? Scott had to have realized what was happening. Maybe he just wanted to let things go the way they were going. Or maybe he was too busy hanging out with Isaac to remember Stiles. He didn't want to sound needy.

Stiles sipped a glass of water in his kitchen, staring out the window into the cold dusky atmosphere. Sighing, he wrapped himself in his fluffiest knitted sweater and sat in front of the TV. There wasn't anything he could do so he reverted to default state: couch potato. Oh, good, _Supernatural_ marathon. He watched for twenty minutes before a knock at the door shocked him away from Dean and Castiel's intense staring session.

Stiles cracked open the door and narrowed his eyes. "The door? Really? Since when did you start using proper entrances?"

"You weren't upstairs," Derek said.

Stiles raised his brows. "How long were you up there?"

Derek's lip quirked up in a tiny growl. "Long enough."

Stiles broke into a short laugh. "So why didn't you just Fab Five it down the stairs?"

Derek's shoulders tensed before he shook his head. "I don't know what—aren't you going to let me in?"

Stiles licked his lips, trying not to laugh. "The doggy door is upstairs."

Derek growled. "Stiles."

The door flew open and Stiles did a dramatic sweep of his arm. "I hereby grant you entrance into my home—wait you already let yourself in on creeper basis. And…you're not a vampire. And stop growling, jeez. You might be a wolf but that doesn't mean you need to act like we're in a B-movie horro—okay, shutting up." Stiles flashed his teeth, shut the door, and slouched back on the couch, pulling a quilted blanket around his shoulders.

Stiles had realized that Derek wasn't as bad as he tried to make himself out to be. The dude carried his dark torch a little too heavily, but other than that Derek wasn't the killing-creeper-psycho he'd initially thought.

"So what exactly brings you to the unsightly home of a lowly human teenager at an uncharacteristically reasonable hour?"

Derek just stood in the entryway looking a bit out of place in the harsh orange light from the kitchen and the flashing television screen. He glanced around, trying to ease his way in to a strange place. His eyes finally stopped on Stiles and he snorted.

"You look like a burrito."

"I'm cold. And answer the question, sourwolf."

"It's not _that_ cold. Aren't you wearing like six sweaters or something?"

"Maybe not for you! And only two thank you very much. Are you just going to ignore the elephant then? Because if so, let yourself out. There's a marathon and I intend to watch it."

Derek plopped down next to him. "I felt something strange in the air a couple days ago but I ignored it. This morning it happened again and I need to find out what it is."

"I'm assuming you're trying to ask for my help, then."

Derek nodded.

Stiles sighed and stared pointedly at the TV. He hadn't been involved in the supernatural goings-ons for awhile even though he knew that Scott and Co. had dealt with a few mishaps in the past couple months. Something to do with an alpha pack. Stiles wished he could help, he really did. But the dark part in the back of his mind, constantly reminding him that he was just human, kept him from getting involved. In the beginning, he would have jumped at the chance to be a part of something insanely otherworldly, but now he knew too well his limitations. He still remembered the pain sometimes…

"Well I can't."

Derek seemed a little taken aback. "We have to find out what this is, Stiles. It could be dangerous."

Stiles clenched his jaw before chucking the blanket and turning to face Derek with a hard look in his auburn eyes. "Okay. What exactly is it that I'm trying to research?"

"I don't really know."

"What does it look like?"

"I'm not sure it—"

"You're not sure it is a thing? Wow, okay. So all you want me to go on is a strange feeling you've got—probably just the wind mind you. I can just see it now, Derek. Google: What does it mean to get strange feelings in the middle of winter? Also, narrow your results to werewolf related incidents. Of course." Stiles turned back to the TV.

"Scott said that—"

Stiles huffed out a small laugh. "What Scott said doesn't matter because he didn't say it to me."

"He's running with Isaac and Jackson."

"And shouldn't you be there?"

"I've got other things I need to do."

"Like asking me pointless questions."

Derek didn't say anything. It was a moot point. Stiles huffed again and then changed gears. "Besides, when did you and Scott become chummy enough for you to deliver his messages?"

"That's not the word I would use. We have an agreement."

"Which is?" Stiles didn't know why he was grilling Derek so hard. No, he did know. And it was pathetic. He really was desperate for information on Scott's life.

"I'm not his alpha, but we're still pack."

"How does that even work?"

"I have no idea. I'm not even going to try to make sense of it. The logistics could quite possibly give you brain damage."

Stiles laughed and then choked. Derek Hale had made a joke.

"So, okay, what's the real reason why you've come here?"

Derek tipped his head. "Just to ask for some research."

Stiles knew that was it, but it didn't help the cold wave of disappointment that washed over him. He wished it were because Scott had sent Derek to check on him—it would mean that Scott still cared. But it was Derek and Stiles knew that Scott had no power to make him do anything. And who knew if Derek knew anything about their estrangement. He didn't seem like the type to get involved in high school drama.

"Well I have nothing to go on but a strange feeling so…"

Derek shook his head. "I had hoped… But it was a long shot."

Stiles watched as Derek's shoulders sunk down just the tiniest fraction. He bit his lip. "Look, I'll help if you give me something more to go on okay? More than just a strange feeling. Something tangible—Google-able. That's not a word but whatever. Now get out of my house."

Derek hesitated before getting up. "Where's your father?"

"Work."

Derek narrowed his eyes. There was a question on his tongue but he seemed to think better of asking it so he just left.

Stiles slipped the blanket back over and continued his marathon.


	2. Chapter 2

The week was passing by painfully slow. Stiles grew agitated by the second day and started talking to himself by Tuesday. Aside from the Internet and online games, he was pretty much left with zero contact with the outside world. Whenever his father was home, Stiles breathed a sigh of relief and let out his stream of consciousness like there was no tomorrow. He didn't even know half of the words that were coming out of his mouth. It was Wednesday when his father suggested, with a tired look in his eyes, that he do something _constructive_.

So that was probably where Stiles decided the literal approach to his father's words was best and spent Thursday making plans for a massive project and Friday running around the hardware store for wood and paint. When he got home, all the wood strapped to the top of his jeep, he was met with a certain surly sourwolf.

Stiles moved around his jeep and pulled at the harnesses. "What do you want?"

Derek strode around the car and leaned on the back window. "What's with all the wood?"

"I'm building something. Are we playing twenty questions now?"

Derek puffed out a breath. "I have more information. You said you'd help." His clear hazel eyes never wavered from Stiles' face trying to catch his attention.

Stiles moved to the other side and pulled the harness off and then a plank of wood. He trudged up the driveway and dumped it in the garage. When he turned around, Derek had carried the rest behind him. "I didn't need your help."

"You could still thank me."

"Thanks, I guess." Stiles shrugged and opened his trunk. "I did say I would help. But I have my own project now."

"Stiles."

"Look," Stiles said, looking up from his trunk and giving Derek a hard expression, "Nowadays I try not to involve myself in supernatural activities where I'm clearly disadvantaged. I can't help you."

Derek shoved his hands into his pockets and raised his chin. "You don't even want to know what I have to tell you?"

Stiles narrowed his eyes. He knew Derek was saying it like that on purpose. Like there was some sort of seriously crazy shit that he _knew_ would be like hyperactive teenage boy catnip. And it just pissed him off because it _did_ interest him. Right deep in his gut he was dying to know what was going on, but he couldn't. Knowledge was power and sometimes that power didn't always lead to good places.

Derek shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not asking you to get involved, Stiles. I know that would put you in a dangerous position. All I'm asking is for a little brainpower. You don't have to leave your room."

"Ha ha, very funny. Make fun of the recluse geek. Very clever. Fine, I'll help. But only if you grab all those paint cans."

Stiles waited the few moments while is Macbook booted up. Looking behind him, Derek sat in the other chair, flipping through his _Sherlock Holmes_ anthology. His brow creased down in concentration. Stiles shook his head, sarcastic smile pinned to his face. He swiveled back to his computer and opened Google.

"So tell me about this latest development. Be detailed. Don't forget to mention anything. Although, you can probably skip the whole 'I frolic through the forest' part—I already know you're a wild animal."

Derek rolled his eyes and scooted behind Stiles. "A couple of days ago there was a body found by the river. It had floated down overnight."

"My father is the sheriff, remember?"

"Right. Well, I had Isaac get a scent from the crime scene to try to track where the body came from."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"They didn't release this information, but the body was in unnatural state of decay. It looked like a shriveled version of a man, drained of all his fluids and then hardened. And he didn't have any eyes."

"And this has a supernatural trademark or something?"

"Something like that. And Isaac couldn't track the scent. Neither could I."

"So far, this just seems like a psychopath's work. A weird feeling in the air and some creepy shit enough to give me nightmares. Also, the water could have washed away the scent."

"It was unnatural, Stiles."

"Unnatural is not the same as supernatural."

Derek glared. "The police didn't release the information."

"And clearly that means that they're keeping some information to themselves so that when they interrogate a suspect, they can see if he knows something only the killer would know."

Derek huffed. "So you're not going to help me?"

Stiles sighed and turned to his computer. "Creepy…shit…"

"_Stiles."_

Stiles backspaced with a laugh. "Jesus, don't get your werewolf panties in a twist."

"You aren't taking this seriously."

"And you're taking it _too_ seriously. Beacon Hills was bound—at some point—to get a psycho-axe-murderer. We just so happen to be cursed with more than one. And this time could very well be something perfectly human that my dad will sort out."

Derek's eyebrows came down over his eyes in one of those really intense glowers that he used when he was especially pissed off. Most people would cringe—and Stiles was sorely tempted to. He knew the guy couldn't stand him and he knew that Derek was one of those people where he couldn't be sure whether he'd follow through or not on a death threat. _Better be safe than sorry_. But recently Stiles had been rethinking his entire view of Derek in light of more recent events.

The evidence was there. And Stiles concluded that Derek wasn't one of those mindless Neanderthals who dropped a club on someone's head because they were mad. In fact, Stiles was fairly certain that the look Derek was giving him was a _practiced _look. He knew his face could pull the angry silent brood about as well or even better than that of Buffy's hot vampire first love, Angel. And Angel was probably the original brooder. All brooders before him paled in comparison. Yet Derek managed to give Angel a run for his money. And Stiles was beginning to think that he did it on purpose. Just to make him think he would rip his throat out so he could get his way.

Stiles smiled back. "Look, as much as I would love to spend my night researching with a nonverbal man-child-werewolf and possibly end up being thrown against a wall or a door…I have a project that I need to work on. So, you can go back to your train cart or whatever and find a nice dark corner to wallow in and let Stiles get back to his life."

"You said you'd help," Derek growled between clenched teeth.

Stiles shrugged. "Can't. Busy." Next thing Stiles knew he was thrown up against his door. Of course. "Ouch! Jesus Christ on tortillas! This is exactly what I'm talking about!"

Derek pressed close and growled at him—pretty much solidifying Stiles' theory that ninety-percent of Derek's 'angry' reactions were practiced. No one could act like such a stereotype creeper asshole and totally mean it. Either that or Stiles pushed a button with Derek that no one else could, and even _Stiles_ wasn't so egotistical to think _that._

But Stiles felt something sour building in his gut. It took him a moment to recognize it as anger. Derek's stupid game was infuriating and childish. "You need to learn to express yourself in a more healthy dynamic way. And you need to learn about an interesting concept called 'personal space'. I'm not picky on the order here." The sarcasm dried up on his tongue, leaving only bite and no lightness to his words.

"Stiles, shut up. You're going to find out everything you can."

Usually, Stiles would cower into submission and return with a sarcastic comment, but these days he wasn't feeling quite like himself. "Fuck. You."

Derek flinched and let go. "What?"

Stiles pulled at his sweater. "You heard me. Now, get out. Fuck you and fuck your stupid bullshit supernatural problems. I'm not here as some sort of Google puppet. Get your own damn computer and do your own damn research."

"You said you'd help." This time the words didn't come out in a growl. They were quiet and contemplative. Derek looked Stiles up and down.

"And I told you to come back when you actually had something worth helping. I'm not going to waste my time to find out that this dried up carcass isn't a result of supernatural activity—just some psycho that treated the body with weird chemicals or some shit and then froze it or something. Because then it's neither my job nor your job, and we both end up tired from chasing ghosts." Stiles huffed and opened his bedroom door, but he stopped before stepping out and waved his hands in the air. "And you know what? It's not my job anyway. I'm human, Derek. I shouldn't be involved in your crap pile. Find someone else."

Derek seemed stunned for a few moments before smoothing out his face as though he'd settled some deep inner debate. "I'll come back when I have something better then." He turned to the window, shucked it open, and jumped out.

"Ugh," Stiles groaned. He leaned out. "Don't come back at all!" he shouted before slamming the window shut. "Son of a bitch…"

_Find someone who can actually help. A hero._


	3. Chapter 3

Sunday night his father found Stiles in the back yard sanding wood. Sheriff Stilinski thought about asking his son what he was doing but realized that the boy was _doing_ something with his time and that was good enough so he left it at that. By Monday, Stiles had measured and cut down the wood until all the pieces seemed the right sizes for his _project._ Except he'd forgotten to get hinges and a light bulb, so it was another trip to the hardware store for Stiles.

The trip should have been a quick one. Stiles was determined to be entirely focused on getting what he needed and not being distracted by the shiny lights in the lighting department. The lights were a weakness—they always had been. Something about the glass and the colors made him stare until he drooled.

But the lights weren't what stopped Stiles. It was the fact that the hardware store was virtually empty. He didn't notice it until he went to the check out counter. He glanced around and realized he was alone.

He tapped his fingers on the counter, eyes wandering over the candy display. After several minutes, he moved to glance down the aisles. Empty.

"Hello?" _When does that ever work? _"And Stiles invites himself to his own horror movie..."

Stiles moved down several more aisles, wandering the store. He started to panic just as red-vested employee rounded the corner. "Oh!"

"I just wanted to check out," Stiles called, breathing a sigh of relief.

The girl, a few years older than he, stepped around the counter, waving her hands. "Yeah, that's fine. I… was just surprised is all. Business is super slow today. I haven't seen anyone except an elderly couple this morning."

Stiles put his things on the counter. "That's weird. I was in here the other day and it was pretty packed. Almost couldn't get paint."

She shrugged and scanned his items. "I don't know what happened. I have a friend who works over at the video game store and he says it's the same. Only about ten or so people the whole day. Same thing with another friend of mine who works at Pixie's—the nightclub."

"A club? That's definitely weird."

She nodded and told him his total.

"Hope things pick up," he said with a wave.

"Thanks, have a nice day."

"You, too."

Stiles arrived home to an unexpected, although it shouldn't have been surprising, visitor. Derek sat on his front porch with a look that could only be described as _grumpy._ His knees were splayed out, and leaning on his left hand, all his weight seemed to slump him down on his thigh. His heavy brow and scowling mouth didn't help matters at all. Stiles would have laughed at the comical look if it hadn't been for the _first-degree murder_ that was gleaming in Derek's red eyes.

Stiles rolled down his window, not willing to get out of the jeep just yet. "So…what's with the extra sour in your wolf?"

"You weren't here."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I know. I was the one that wasn't here, remember? Wow, forget that. It didn't make any sense. Are you trying to tell me you've been waiting for me to come back?"

Derek stretched his legs in front of him. "No."

Stiles let a smile flash on his face. "Yeah, okay. How long?"

"Aren't you going to get out of the car?"

"I kind of like it in here. Where I have an easy getaway."

"And why would you need a getaway?"

Stiles frowned. "I don't know… Maybe it's because of the red-eyed murderous looking wolf sitting on my front porch?"

"I'm not—" Derek turned and caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the front windows. "Oh." He bristled and his budding canines and red eyes simmered back.

Stiles stepped out of the jeep.

"I didn't realize," Derek muttered.

Stiles raised his brows. "Right. Well."

Derek glanced down to Stiles' hand. "What's that?"

Stiles lifted his plastic bag. "Stuff. For my project." He brushed past him and opened his front door. Stiles turned around before Derek could follow him in. "What do you want?"

"Erica and Boyd turned up again."

Stiles blanched. "What?" A grin tugged up on his face. "That—that's awesome! So the Alpha pack didn't do anything to them, right?"

Derek shuffled his foot. "They got away, but they're not okay. I think something happened to them before they got back—after they got away. They're eyes are all weird." Derek tried to shrug off the dark look on his face. "I think it has something to do with this whole strange feeling I've been having. They're not the same."

The smile on Stiles' face slipped off. "What do you mean their eyes are weird?"

Derek licked his lip and stuffed his hands into his leather jacket. "They're graying. Not completely, but they're getting there. Erica and Boyd showed up yesterday and they seemed fine. They were beaten up, definitely, but otherwise fine. And then this morning they stopped talking. And now their eyes are going grey and they won't move."

Stiles felt himself slowly freeze to the spot. This was definitely something supernatural. He couldn't pass this off as some sort of disease because werewolves were supposed to not get diseases. But the situation itself wasn't what turned his feet into lead. It was the fact that Derek looked so completely unstable—freaked out of his mind—that he knew that this was something far more serious than he wanted to believe. And Derek would now _make_ Stiles help if he had to. In short, shit just got real.

"Is-Is it just them? Is everyone else okay?" _Scott._

Derek nodded. "It's just them…right now. But if this thing can affect werewolves then I don't know." Derek shook his head, glaring at a spot above Stiles' head in endless frustration.

That was when Stiles realized that Derek had come to him and let a load off his chest. Why? He wasn't sure, but it softened the ball of tightness and anxiety inside him that he hadn't realized was there.

Stiles sighed. "Come on. I've got…coffee."

Derek followed him inside and leaned by the fridge while Stiles made a fresh pot. "I know you don't want to get involved…"

Stiles tensed over the coffee. "All logic tells me I shouldn't."

"So now you listen to reason?"

Stiles poured Derek a mug. "Milk in the fridge. Sugar in the cupboard above your head."

Derek just sipped his drink with raised brows.

Stiles leaned on the counter at his back and watched. "I…I'm not a hero, Derek. I know now that I'm just human."

Derek nodded. "So what's the reason for avoiding your pack?"

Stiles blanched mid-sip. "Pack? What pack?" _Did you see a pack? I didn't see a pack._

Derek shrugged. "Scott, Allison, Lydia…"

"They're _your_ pack."

"You're still avoiding them."

"I'm not…" Stiles trailed off seeing the knowing look on his almighty wolfie's face. He shrugged. "I wouldn't call it avoiding. We just... we're travelling in different directions is all. Oh, don't give me that look! You're Wolf Yoda, not Relationship Yoda. You can't just occupy two completely different Yoda fields—only canon Yoda is allowed that. Besides, why do you even care? I thought you hated me."

"I absolutely loathe being around you," Derek confirmed. But his words held no bite and only made Stiles smile a small smile and shake his head.

"Well there must be a strange exhilaration…in such total detestation—whoa, never mind. Can we please talk about something different? Didn't you come here to ask for help again?"

Derek downed the last of his coffee. Stiles managed to refrain from asking how fast mouth burns healed for werewolves. "I don't need to ask, Stiles. You're going to find out what is going on or I'll tear out your innards…with my teeth."

"Careful with the threats, buddy. One might start to think you don't mean them."

"Why don't you shut up? Else the wall and your head will get personal."

"Ha ha, very funny. But I see through your game, Grumpy McGrumpypants. You put up a tough front with all the broody faces and gymnastics, but I know exactly what you really are."

"And what is that?" Derek took a step forward, crowding along the edges of _too close_ and looked straight into Stiles' big, auburn eyes.

"A big ball of yarn," Stiles replied with a satisfied smirk.

"A big ball of yarn?"

"Oh yes. Just a cuddly little sphere of soft plush goodness."

Stiles grinned. Derek just set him with a glare as he shuffled another small step forward.

"Cuddly?" His eyebrows rose and there was a laugh just around Derek's mouth.

Stiles glanced over him. "Well, you do have that whole _look-at-this-leather-and-metal-I-will-fuck-you-up _thing going on but I don't believe it for a second. And don't even flash those alpha eyes at me. I know you can do that on purpose."

Derek sniffed. "Do the research." His voice was growly but it didn't mask the clear amusement on his face.

Stiles put up his hands. "Alright, alright. I give. I'll do whatever you ask! Just don't knit me a sweater. Anything but the knitting needles!"

Derek snorted and backed up. "You don't need me to knit you a sweater." His eyes wandered down Stiles' front.

Stiles grabbed the knitted blue fabric that had deer printed across the bottom. "What? This? It was a gift! From a family member! Don't you dare tell me that you've never had one of those!" Stiles stopped. He realized the territory he'd just stepped in to.

Derek lowered his face with a sad smile. "Yeah," he huffed. He looked back up, remembrances gone and all seriousness returned. "I need you to do it right away. I'm not sure if this thing is fatal."

Stiles blew out a breath and nodded. Derek let himself out.

Stiles did get started on the research right away. He worked on it until the nightblogging hours of the morning, well after his father got home and crashed asleep. He delved into the sea of websites, digging through anything resembling supernatural folklore and werewolves. All the while, his mind kept revisiting his and Derek's conversation and the weird way it turned out. It resembled something like _friendly_. The way Derek easily assimilated himself into his kitchen and the way he returned tit for tat every time Stiles made a jab. Yet this friendliness had an odd edge to it, something that veered it away from _innocent._

When Stiles finally slumped onto his bed, eyes drooping and fingers aching, he revisited the conversation one last time. Something about the whole encounter bothered him to no end. There was something there he couldn't quite name. It was on the fringes of his brain, just out of reach. Some word that could properly describe this strange exchange.

And right before he fell asleep, Stiles heard it.

What Derek and Stiles were doing in the kitchen could only be described by something truly terrifying. His mind jarred to a halt around this word and for a second he felt his insides cringe and shake at the possibility. But it couldn't be true; this word, Derek, and Stiles didn't belong in the same sentence let alone the same universe. But Stiles wasn't an idiot, and he knew that the only possible way to describe his encounter with Derek, which was all together terrifying and oddly exhilarating, was…. _flirting._


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles didn't remember his little epiphany by morning. Instead, he retained a little feeling of foreboding all throughout the day. Something in his world had tipped off the table of things that are okay, and he couldn't quite put a finger on it. It was maddening in that he kept thinking he had solved some great life mystery—like a cure for world hunger—and couldn't remember it. But there was some part of his brain that told him that he didn't want to know. Whatever it was, by Tuesday afternoon, he'd let it go. And by that night he had forgotten completely.

Derek texted him a few hours after sunset.

_Derek: Can you meet me?"_

_Stiles: No._

_Derek: I shouldn't have made that a question. _

"You can fuckin' shove it," Stiles murmured under his breath.

_Stiles: I'm not one of your betas._

It was a few minutes before Derek replied.

_Derek: Just please. _

Stiles bit his lip. Derek could have threatened him…but he didn't. He was pleading. He could practically see the puppy eyes. Ugh. Stiles sent Derek a very angry _okay, _and Stiles wondered when a little tiny soft ball of yarn started growing in his gut—for Derek.

Directions were sent to Stiles seconds later, and they led to…the vet. Scowling at his phone, Stiles grabbed his keys and jumped out the door. Stiles drove the few minutes it took to get there and parked under a bright light in the lot.

"You could have just said!" he shouted, the door chiming as he burst through. "I've been here before. And I think you remember one of those times." Stiles shuddered. "God, you better not be here because Argent shot you with a wolfsbane bullet."

"Stiles?" Scott's head peered around the counter.

Stiles stopped in the foyer. "Oh. Scott. I was, uh… As shocking as this might sound… I was looking for Derek."

Scott blanched. "He's…in the back." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Stiles followed him behind the counter. "Erica and Boyd showed up. We think they're sick or some—"

"Yeah, I know. Derek told me," he added seeing Scott's surprised look. "He wanted me to try and figure out what all this was about."

Scott stopped before the door that led to the back room. "So, uh, how have you been?"

Stiles couldn't figure out why Scott's face looked worried. Maybe he felt the awkwardness as much as Stiles did. "Fine. You gonna—?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah." He opened the door and let Stiles through.

Derek sat in one of the metal chairs along the right wall watching as Dr. Deaton flashed a light in the eyes of the two wolves sitting on the metal table. Stiles wandered around to Derek's side and stared.

"Jesus," he muttered. "They're…"

"Catatonic," Dr. Deaton finished, flicking off his flashlight. That was when Stiles noticed how milky white their eyes were. "But they aren't blind…yet. It's just an infection of some sort. I'll have to take blood samples." He produced a pair of syringes and several tubes from a drawer on the other side of the room. One at a time, he filled the vials with their blood until he had four vials for each of them. "I'll do some tests. In the meantime, they should remain here for observation. It's the safest place."

"No one knows they're back except for my pack," Derek said. "They won't be hunted if they stay with me. I can protect them."

Dr. Deaton frowned down at Derek. "I meant safe for everyone else. I don't know how their condition will worsen. If they turn feral, it's best if they stay in a place where I can easily sedate them and keep them out of society.

"But they can't move. They're catatonic," Derek protested.

"Right now they are," the vet replied with a grave look. "This is the best option for everyone. You have to trust me."

Stiles knew that Derek didn't like this—it was clear enough on his face—so he put a hand on Derek's shoulder. "Dude, they'll be fine. We'll find some way to fix them before it gets worse."

Dr. Deaton glanced at the hand on Derek's shoulder. "Derek told me you were doing research. It might help to know if you found anything."

Stiles frowned. "I found jack squat, that's what. Seriously, bro." He shot Derek an apologetic look. "I looked up stuff about Erica and Boyd—nothing. I started researching the dead guy—but he hasn't been identified yet and they haven't done an autopsy. Also, still not ruling out a perfectly human explanation to his death. And… this is the worst part… I even ventured into the third and fourth pages of Google—several times in different searches. I mean seriously, if it's not on the first page it probably doesn't exist. Those are dark places, dude. Dark places."

Dr. Deaton sighed and turned back to his patients. Scott scratched his head in the doorway and glanced warily at the catatonic wolves. Derek just sort of looked at his hands. Stiles couldn't help thinking he was taking the lack of information harder than was necessary. His hand was still on Derek's shoulder; he patted him absently, staring at Erica and Boyd. They were…disturbing to put it mildly. Erica's hair still looked as tangled and matted since the last time he saw her, and both their clothes had traces of dirt and blood on them although there was a clear effort to maintain some form of sanitation.

Dr. Deaton put the vials in a tube container and set them aside. "Scott your shift's up. Derek, I'll call you when the results come in. It should take couple days."

"But—"

"Go."

Derek, broody face full of reluctance, stood up, grabbed Stiles by the arm, and pulled him both out into the parking lot with Scott trailing behind. "Isaac is waiting for you," Derek told Scott with a pointed look.

Scott glanced at Stiles. "Uh, okay. Later, Stiles."

Stiles nodded. As soon as Scott found Isaac, Stiles ripped his arm out of Derek's grasp. "Dude, seriously."

"Are you sure there wasn't anything?"

Stiles glared, rubbing the spot where Derek gripped him. "Yes, I'm sure."

Derek growled a sigh and leaned against the light post.

"And I don't even get a _thank you_ for driving all the way out here on such short notice? I have a life you know. I have stuff I want to do. I can't just show up whenever anyone wants me to."

Derek just glared.

Stiles shrugged, putting his elbows behind him on the hood of his jeep. "Fine. Whatever. This is the last time, though. I found nothing for your pups. Don't come calling again."

Stiles said the words, and he made it sound like he meant them. But he wasn't sure if he did. For a brief moment, Stiles had felt a part of something again. He wasn't wallowing around the house completely alone. And, honestly, he wasn't sure if he liked being left alone to begin with. Sure, it made sense—and Stiles was making an effort to do things that only made sense. But he was so quick to help Derek last night he had to wonder if he really wanted to be a part of this crazy supernatural life again…somewhere, not so far down below the surface of his words.

But even if he wanted to help, he couldn't. He remembered all too well the anxiety of not being able to do anything when any one of his friends could die. He remembered the nights he couldn't sleep and the pills he had to keep taking to remedy his jitteriness and erratic heart. He remembered how close he came to having panic attacks again and how strained he felt trying to pull the _I'm fine_ mask every single day.

He didn't want to risk that again. He wanted to be fine and _mean _it. Unfortunately, he'd let his resolve slip the past week and half. And all because Derek Hale was good at pushing the right buttons.

"You confuse me, Stiles," Derek said.

Stiles just shrugged again.

"First you trespass on my property and accuse me of murder all because you can't wait to find out about things you shouldn't find out about and now you stay so far out of it you practically fall off the face of the earth. It doesn't make sense. But mostly, I can't tell if you're lying when you say it's the last time."

Stiles sucked in his bottom lip but chose not to say anything. What was he going to say? That he was right? Certainly not.

Derek looked like he was going to press the point, but instead switched gears. "You know Scott hasn't been doing too well lately."

"Allison broke up with him. He lost his anchor. And he puts up a good front, but he's definitely hurting over it. So, yeah, I expect he hasn't been doing well."

"Allison," Derek echoed. "Right."

"Is…is it really bad, though?" Hopefully that didn't sound too pathetic.

"Isaac had to…manage him the last two full moons." Derek was giving Stiles a heavy look.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means."

"I'm talking about your face."

"What about my face?"

"You're giving me this—" Stiles flailed his hands "—look."

Derek glanced at his reflection on Stiles' jeep. "This is my face."

Stiles scowled, pulled away from his jeep, and walked around to the drivers' side. "Whatever, dude. Don't come bothering me again." Stiles took as much time as was socially acceptable—and not completely obvious—into getting in the car. His bit his lip as he turned the ignition. _What am I waiting for?_

Derek growled and knocked on the window.

Stiles glanced over. The knot of anticipation untangled. "What?"

"Unlock the door."

Stiles let him jump in.

"Look, I guess you're dumber than I thought." Derek twisted in the seat and fixed him with his most annoyed look.

"What?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?"

Stiles glared. "Yeah I guess you do."

"Scott might be heartbroken over Allison, but he misses _you."_

Stiles clenched and unclenched his jaw. He tapped the wheel and glared everywhere but at Derek.

"I don't really care what happened but you two need to kiss and make up. He's ruining the pack dynamic."

Stiles gritted his teeth. "It's not really any of your business."

Derek just raised his brows.

Stiles scowled. "It's still none of your business."

"Stiles." Derek grabbed the boy's shoulder and made him look at him. "Kiss and make up with your boyfriend or I'm going to have to do something regrettable."

"I'm not afraid of you," Stiles blinked, "mostly."

Derek slipped out of the jeep and let a slow grin press on his face. The grin was bordering on creepy but somehow it managed to stay on this side of amused. Derek was laughing about something. "You're going to do it."

Before Stiles could stop himself he said, "you should smile more, it's definitely attractive." After which he nearly had a heart attack _because under no context whatsoever could he pass off those words as anything related to platonic at all._ And during that split second of shock, Stiles suddenly remembered the previous night. _Flirting._

This was definitely not okay.

"Anyway!" Stiles quickly shifted. "It's none of your business. So." Stiles started the engine and prayed that Derek couldn't tell his heart was on _abort mission_ mode. "Good luck on all this!" He waved his hands toward the vet's office and started to turn the wheel.

The grin never left Derek's face—in fact, it seemed to grow wider.

Stiles peeled out of the lot as fast as he could. He tried, and failed, to justify his words on the road.

When he got home, there was an unexpected and surprising visitor: Scott. Seeing him on the front steps, completely wiped away the last ten minutes of embarrassing horror.

He thought about what Derek had said: Scott missed _him._ He felt a little hope in his gut, but it did nothing against the tight wad of anxiety that had built inside him over the last couple months. Besides, what if Derek really didn't know anything? Maybe Scott didn't miss him. Maybe it really was just Allison. How was he supposed to act? They hadn't talked in a long time. What did he expect?

"What are you and Derek doing?" Scott asked as soon as Stiles got out of his jeep.

"Look, dude, I am literally going to fall on my face and pass out if I have to deal with any more craziness involving Derek tonight. I am just that _done_."

Scott's nostrils flared around Stiles as he trudged up the front steps. "Have you been hanging out with him? Why? What does he want?"

Stiles felt that wad of anxiety tighten. Did Scott just want to know about Derek? "What's it to you? It's not like it's any of your business."

"Of course it's my business. You're my be—" Scott stopped himself for a brief second. "He's in the pack. And if you're hanging out with him, I should know why."

Stiles didn't miss the change in words and felt a slight stab of pain in his abdomen. "He just wanted me to do research. I'm not involved." His words were flat and he managed to keep his face carefully even.

Scott swallowed. "Don't get involved. It's…getting more dangerous. And next time if Derek comes around… just don't get involved. Please."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "You know you have a lot of nerve coming here and telling me what to do, Scott. Especially because—" He blew out a breath. "I can make my own decisions. I'm not an idiot. So fuck off."

Scott also had the nerve to look affronted. He jerked his head in a short nod and left. Stiles let out a tiny sigh and went inside.

Maybe he could have fixed things right then. He didn't know where the harshness came from. And if that part of him kept springing up, he'd never have the chance to fix things with Scott.

_Why did he stop himself from saying best friend?_


	5. Chapter 5

The Scott Incident made Stiles forget about The Derek Incident until sometime around three a.m. as he was lying awake in bed thinking about all the embarrassing things he'd done when he was thirteen. One train of thought led to another and then The Derek Incident exploded in his memory, making him sit up and toss his sheets aside.

_"Jesus fucking Christ Almighty on a grilled cheese sandwich." _He clutched his head and stared at his carpet. "Oh my holy fucking God. This cannot be happening." _This is literally the most embarrassing thing to happen to me in the history of embarrassing things and I have a lot of embarrassing things on my record. _It wasn't even the fact that he'd said that kind of thing to a _guy_. Stiles knew that he was probably bisexual—so that wasn't the issue. But it was actually the fact that he'D SAID IT TO DEREK OH GOD. All his insides were keyboard smashing and rolling on the floor with embarrassment, but on the outside he almost didn't dare to breathe.

It made Stiles really think. Did he say that just because of the simple fact that Derek was attractive and then turned into a sun when he smiled or did he say that because he was _attracted to_ Derek who turned him _on_ when he smiled? Most of his feelings toward Derek had been one of two choices thus far: fear or fear. But Derek hadn't of late exuded the dangerous air of loathing and murder whenever he was around Stiles. It was mostly annoyance and amusement. Stiles in turn learned to not be as afraid of Derek, and when that happened he'd begun to have fun—to _flirt_ with him. And he couldn't believe it—but he could almost swear to it—that Derek had been flirting back.

Stiles' mind shut down right there at that thought. No. Nope. No way. On a scale of 1 to 10, Derek was a 4845969 and Stiles was a -2. And if the math was impossible, so was the flirting. So it had to just be banter—just witty, innocent banter between almost-not-really frenemies.

_Yeah, banter that results in eye sex and stepping a little too close in the personal bubble zone._ Stiles smacked his face. _Mind out of the gutter._ He couldn't be attracted to Derek. The guy probably had a sniffer on him that could sense attraction from Sweden. And that was probably where Stiles was going to have to move if he wanted to maintain any shred of dignity. He'd have to learn Swedish. He could probably do it—if Lydia could learn archaic Latin, he could definitely learn Swedish. Was he really considering moving to Sweden?

Moreover, Stiles couldn't be attracted to Derek because then he'd know for sure that he had a problem crushing on people completely out of his league. He'd been in love with Lydia since the third grade and was only now beginning to let her go. She belonged with Jackson. It was just the way it worked. Hierarchy and all that. So Stiles knew he couldn't just switch to another equally unattainable target—didn't he learn his lesson?

And he wasn't going to get in to the fact that Derek was a creeper and Brooder McBrooderson on his best days. Sure, underneath all the dark, mysterious, badass-in-a-bad way exterior Derek _might_ have some semblance of a personality that didn't involve being emo. Hell, he might even enjoy things like joy and laughter and happiness. But from what Stiles could see, he and Derek were polar opposites on the spectrum of humanity. Other than the fact that they both suffered familial loss, he couldn't think of anything that they had in common. It just didn't add up.

Stiles stayed in the crouched position on his bed for what seemed like hours until he finally had the power to move his limbs and lie back down. From there he fell asleep and let his dreams torment him instead.

He was awoken by a rapping on his chamber… nevermor—mind! Mind. Never mind! Someone was rapping on his window in a that's-so-not-a-raven way. In fact, Stiles' delirious mind was fairly sure it was a certain wolfy fist rapping for entrance. He pulled off his sheets and shuffled over to his window…and stopped.

_What am I doing?_ His mind was waking up to reality. His heart was speeding up like they were running ten miles _this early._ His hands were fidgeting by the curtains.

"Stiles I know you're there," Derek's muffled voice floated through. "And calm down! I can barely hear myself think!"

Stiles tried to force his heart back to normal. He took several breaths and instantly felt stupid for freaking out. They were bros! (Almost. Not really. Logistics, okay?) They were both dudes! His little _almost_ crush would wash away into the wind as a passing fancy and later he would look back and laugh at himself for how stupid he was thinking Derek as one hell of a delicious—no.

Stiles threw the curtains open, cringing at the sudden flare of sunlight. "Gyaaah! No, stop… turn it off." He flapped his hands.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Glad you're awake," he replied dryly. "Open the window."

"A _please_ would be nice," Stiles sniped, hands still shielding his face.

_"Please?"_ Derek flashed his teeth in a sarcastic grin.

Stiles grumbled and undid the latch. Derek shucked it open and jumped inside.

"We need to talk," he said.

Stiles waved his hands. "I haven't had a chance to eat or shower or brush my pearly whites. And I'm definitely not going to have some serious discussion until I get some bacon in me. Because bacon." Stiles glared. "Asshole," he added for good measure.

Derek looked him up in down. Stiles refused to think that he _checked him out._ "Nice pajamas."

"Captain America is the best avenger and if you say any different or insult him I will personally arrange for you to be thrown out with a loud 'go fuck yourself.'"

Derek held up his hands in mock surrender.

Stiles glared but didn't press his point. "I'm going to go eat food now."

"As opposed to…?"

"Shut up. Asshole."

"Wow someone's not a morning person."

Stiles glared. "Yesterday was crappy. I couldn't sleep. You're an asshole for coming here at the asscrack of dawn. So, yeah, I'm a bit of a crankasaurus."

Luckily, Stiles' father left early for the station or there would have been an awkward line of questioning as to why an ex-murder suspect was following Stiles around the house like a lost puppy as he did his morning ritual.

Derek even sat down across from him and watched as he chewed on his bacon.

"You want some?"

Derek shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

Stiles raised his brows but didn't press it. He looked like he was salivating from Stiles' view. "So…"

Derek nodded.

"Right." He chewed and swallowed. "What exactly do you want from me here?"

Derek looked tongue-tied for a moment. "What…do you mean?"

"You _rang_ remember?"

"Yeah," Derek said quickly. "Scott."

Stiles ripped off a giant chunk of his bacon. "What about him?"

"Isaac said he came to see you last night."

"Isaac didn't come to see me last night."

"You know what I meant."

Stiles shrugged. "So what if he did?"

"I told you to make things better."

"It's really none of your business." Stiles swallowed his bacon and poked his fork into his eggs. He ate in silence for a few minutes before asking, "Did Dr. Deaton call?"

"No change."

Stiles glanced at Derek between bites. Derek was handsome—beautifully carved cheeks and jaw line with gorgeous hazel eyes that Stiles knew could be equally intimidating and sexy as hell. But there were dark circles under his eyes, paleness to his usual tanned galore, and he even looked a little slimmer as though he'd lost muscle mass over the last couple months. And the guy didn't have his usual air of menace hanging around these days. Derek was upset that his wolves were sick and he was upset that his _pack_ was sick. And it clearly made _him_ sick. And maybe that was it—if the pack as a whole wasn't healthy and in sync, neither was Derek.

"Why do you keep coming around here, Derek?" Stiles asked quietly.

Derek had been sitting in contemplative thought, arms slumped in his leather jacket. But when the question came up after several minutes of not uncomfortable silence, he was startled. "What?"

"It's just…you don't look too good. You've got…bags—which I am _sure_ are designer!" Stiles bit his lip. Derek's death glare turned into suppressed amusement. "All I'm saying is that you look like you haven't slept in days. I mean your hair, for one, usually so _delicately_ arranged—the perfect compromise between running-through-the-forest tousled and I-at-least-put-a-comb-through-it neat—is now the subject of, er, flatness. And then of course you look like you need to eat a little bit to fill out the hollow in your cheeks. And maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to let someone give you a hug—it might help with the frown lines that are beginning to form." Stiles didn't even think about half the things he was saying—all he knew was that half-way Derek began to look like he was either going to rip someone's head off or burst into laughter. Stiles hoped it would be the latter.

"And you know," Stiles continued, breaking into a wide grin, "Stilinski's give _great_ hugs."

Derek broke. He snorted and started laughing into his hands. "Oh my God. You really are ridiculously annoying."

Stiles couldn't stop himself. "And what did I tell you about _smiling?" _Stiles might've just died of embarrassment inside. But he was determined to keep it together.

Derek got his laughter under control and eyed Stiles. "That it was attractive."

"That was rhetorical."

Derek raised his brows. "Your heart rate is rather abnormal, Stiles. Well, it's always abnormal just like you, but right now—"

"Shut up."

"Stiles are you—"

Stiles put a hand up. "No really shut up." A deep red blush was making its way up his neck.

"—_attracted_ to me?" Derek had a wide, mocking grin.

Stiles grimaced. "_No."_ But the blush just got worse. "Can't a person point out to another person an attractive quality without being accused of being attracted to said person? It's just ridiculous. What is this world coming to?!" Stiles coughed. "And you never answered my goddamn question."

"Which one was that?" Derek asked, still grinning.

"Why your ass keeps showing up around here," Stiles grumbled.

"Maybe I like watching you squirm."

"Maybe you're lonely as hell and your pack is so screwed up you found an excuse to hang out with someone else." Derek's brows flew up and his mouth opened to make some retort, but Stiles put up a hand again. "Don't look at me like that or try to deny it. I kind of figured it out the other night when you came to tell me Boyd and Erica showed up again. And I'm not judging you or making fun of you. I'm…sympathizing."

Derek was at a loss for words apparently.

Stiles pressed his lips together and nodded. "I might be in the same boat."

"I'm not—"

"No. Nope. Don't even try. I'm lonely. You're lonely. It takes one to know one. Yada yada. It's an established thing now. Don't worry about it. And, as long as you don't rip my throat out or maim me in some other horrific way, you can come over here whenever you want. You don't even have to talk. You can just sit while I work on my project or my winter holiday assignments if you want. Open invitation. Except when my dad is home. Then it's a closed invitation." Stiles chewed the last of his eggs with a small smile and winked.

"You think you're so fucking clever," Derek grumbled.

Stiles snorted. "I am fucking clever, you fucker. Now shut the fuck up and eat the rest of the fucking bacon on the grill before you drown the fucking table with your fucking werewolf saliva."

Derek got up.

"But give me like three more slices. Please."

That asshole did as he was told. Damn straight.


	6. Chapter 6

"My house, my rules," Stiles told Derek that same Tuesday night. Derek had some pack business to attend to—checking on his wolves, which Stiles opted out of due to high levels of _creepiness_ involved—but then he returned later to mooch from his fridge and get his furry werewolf germs all over Stiles' bed. He was all _sprawled out_ like he had a _right_ to now that Stiles basically gave him the green light to come over whenever. The bastard was worse than a kitten.

Derek just raised a brow, _challenging_ the rules before he even knew what the rules were. Stiles narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his desk chair. Yeah, he didn't know what all the rules were yet, but that wasn't going to stop him from making shit up as he goes.

"First, no maiming, murder, threatening, or threatening _adjacent_ acts, which also includes throwing _Stiles_ against walls or other hard surfaces. I've got fucking tender-ass skin—don't _laugh_ you asshole—and it's also susceptible to very ugly bruising—seriously you could at least pretend not to shake your shoulders." Derek was just sitting there snorting and chest heaving with his contained silent laughter. Stiles huffed and ruffled a hand through his hair, which had grown out at least an inch from his lack of discipline. "_Second,_ if my dad shows up you either gotta haul ass or hide in the closet. _Third,_ clean up after yourself. I'm not hosting cavemen and I'm not your housekeeper. You wanna sandwich? Go downstairs and make it yourself. _Fourth,_ don't you fucking dare stumble through this window bleeding to death from a wolfsbane bullet and ask me to saw off your arm. In fact, don't get shot. And if you do—and it's not a wolfsbane bullet—call first."

"And what if it is a wolfsbane bullet?"

"Call first so I can lock my window."

Derek raised his eyebrows.

"Damn straight," Stiles said, reading the expression immediately, "I totally would."

Derek eyed him for a few seconds before nodding really slowly with narrowed eyes. "Any more rules?" Derek asked just as slow.

"Yeah, Stiles reserves the right to add rules as things come up and/or change existing rules. Like, if I find out you roll in dirt while running through the forest like the Neanderthal you are, then I will require you to shower before arriving at _chez Stiles._"

"And Stiles refers to himself in the third person?"

"Stiles doesn't know what you are talking about." Stiles swiveled around and clicked the Internet browser at the bottom of his Macbook.

Derek sat up and scooted to the end of the bed. He propped his chin over his arm on the end of the desk and watched as Stiles clicked onto an unfamiliar blue site. Stiles glanced warily at Derek as the first posts loaded up. Scrolling with someone over his shoulder was like playing Internet Russian Roulette—the bullet being _porn._

"What?"

Derek shrugged.

Stiles opened another tab to Google and then opened his word processer.

"I thought you had some sort of project?"

Stiles glanced at the upper right corner of his screen. "I do. I worked on it a few hours ago before it got too dark." He hit the dashboard button. "Rain tomorrow."

"Then what are you doing now?"

Stiles glared at Derek who had an unnaturally innocent look in his hazel eyes. It took Stiles a second to realize that Derek was _bored_ and wanted _Stiles_ to _entertain_ him. The bastard. But then he cleared his expression, realizing the utter power of the situation. Oh yes, Stiles could entertain Derek.

"Hey, Derek," Stiles said with a seriously creepy smile, leaning forward a bit too close for comfort.

Derek's brows twitched. "What?" he asked, not exactly _flinching_ from Stiles' sudden weirdness.

"What was the last…" Stiles murmured, closing in on Derek, and Stiles could swear for a second there was a brief moment of panic in his eyes. "…Movies you saw?_"_ he finished quickly with a smirk.

Derek jerked away. "What?"

"Movies, Derek. What was the last _actual_ _modern_ movie you saw? You don't seem like the type to frequent movie theatres. So what was the last one?"

Derek blanched. "I go to movies…sometimes."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "But not lately?"

Derek pursed his lips. "…No…not lately."

"Too busy puppy-sitting?"

Derek gave him _a look._ "I guess," he gritted out.

"And on the run?"

Derek glared. "Maybe."

"And being suspected of murder?"

Derek growled.

Stiles flashed a smile. "That's what I thought. Go on, last movie you saw."

Derek didn't stop his glare, but he thought back. "…_The Dark Knight_. I think."

"Wow. You have missed_ a lot._ Have you at least seen _Iron Man_? That came out around the same time, I think."

Derek shook his head.

Stiles sighed. "Well I guess we have a lot to catch up on. Wait—please tell me you've seen _Captain America?_ No. Hm. Well. Disappointing to put it mildly."

Derek huffed and glanced at the wall behind Stiles, glaring at the huge Captain America poster. "Laura and I didn't usually have the time to go see movies. We were mostly busy doing more important things." He didn't glance at Stiles, he just glared at the poster.

Stiles hesitated. Did Derek really just bring up his dead sister? Slowly, he nodded, keeping his eyes steady on Derek. The guy didn't let on very much, there was a careful solidarity to the way Derek was staring at the poster—a solidarity that was simultaneously already built and being built as he spoke. But Stiles felt deep in his gut that this admission was just a small sample of what was really eating at Derek. Maybe it was the slight twitch in his neck or the irregular tapping of his fingertips on Stiles' desk that pointed to this. Or maybe it was the solidarity itself that Stiles recognized as though seeing an old friend. Because he did in fact know this solidarity. It came up whenever his mother was brought up in conversation, whenever he saw extended family, whenever his father drifted into that quiet state of reflection after three glasses too many of scotch, or whenever Stiles accidently let his eyes linger on that photo in the hall that neither he nor his father had the heart to take down.

And as Stiles had this realization, he quickly switched gears. "Well you gonna learn today, bro."

Derek, startled, straightened and gave Stiles his most confused look. "What?"

Stiles was already typing away. In a few moments he had linkage to a not-so-honest viewing of _Iron Man _and was waving at Derek to scoot. "My house my rules," he shot. "Now move your ass—thank." Stiles settled in next to Derek, squishing their shoulders because there wasn't that much space, and pulled his laptop between them. Derek grimaced next to him, but didn't say anything.

"First, you're gonna see this movie—and then we'll watch the second one and then we'll watch—is that your phone?"

Derek muttered something, and awkwardly pried his phone from his pocket. "It's Isaac…" Derek shuffled off the bed. "What?" He was silent, brows pulled together over his eyes in concentration. Slowly, his face turned dark. "We'll be right there." He hung up. "Cops found another body by the river."

Stiles pushed his laptop to his side. "Same as the other dude?"

Derek nodded.

"Two is still a coincidence," Stiles said.

Derek raised a brow.

Stiles bit his lip. "I'm still not going with you. It's a crime scene. My dad—"

"I seem to recall a very specific incident where that didn't stop you."

His breath hitched in his throat as Derek stared at him, a faint taunting look in his hazel eyes. Stiles swallowed and tapped his fingers against his jeans nervously. "Well it's…stopping me now."

"Is it?"

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Stop…giving me that look!"

"This is my face."

"And it's giving me a _look._ Goddammit. I can't go out there and you know it."

Derek nodded _really_ slowly, like he wasn't buying a word from that boy's mouth. "Are you scared of a dead person?"

"Oh fuck you," Stiles sniped. He shuffled down and started pulling on his Converse.

Derek flashed a smirk. "So you're coming?"

"Yes—shit." Stiles glared at Derek. "I totally walked in to that one." Stiles shook his head at Derek's silent laughter. "Just so we're clear, I'm only going because you already told Isaac that you were bringing someone else."

"And we can't disappoint Isaac."

"I'm also just going to stay in the car. I'm not convinced this is something supernatural." Stiles tightened his laces and stood up. "And even if it _were_, I wouldn't be getting involved. Like how I'm not involved right now."

Derek nodded again.

Stiles raised a brow and looked Derek in the eyes. "You hear me? Stiles is not involved. Under no circumstances will my delicate—yet toned—body be _involved._"

Derek snorted.

"Just along for the ride. Not. Involved," Stiles said as they exited through the front door. "I hope it's perfectly clear—"

"That you are not involved, yes."

Stiles was automatically swerving to his jeep but Derek grabbed his arm and pulled him to the sidewalk where Derek's black Camaro was located a few houses down. It took a few tries but Stiles finally pried his arm from Derek's viper grip. He rubbed on the spot with a tight grimace.

"At least buy me dinner before you manhandle me," he said because he had absolutely no shamelessness at this point. Or maybe he did because he could feel heat rising on his neck. _Was that too obvious? Why am I worried about being obvious? There's nothing to be obvious about. Obviously._

Derek just rolled his eyes. "You like it."

"No, _you_ like it," Stiles said before he even process what just happened.

They stopped in front of his car. Derek let a slow grin crawl on his face. "Maybe." And before Stiles could react, Derek opened the passenger door and shoved Stiles inside. "Not your house anymore."

"You asshole."

Derek slid in. "You're too easy, Stiles."

"Am not."

He started the engine and pulled away from the sidewalk. "What are you, five?"

"12.9 actually."

Derek snorted. "That explains a lot."

"You know one of these days Derek I'm gonna give you a taste of your own medicine."

Derek glanced at him as he sped down the street, turning right sharply.

"You could get a speeding ticket, Derek."

"I don't think the cops are looking for traffic violators right now. And how exactly are you going to give me a taste of my own medicine?"

"I don't know… But one day, Derek, one day you will know my pain." Stiles made a dramatic look and Derek just snorted again.

"I'm going to make a pass through the woods here—then we'll go around so the police don't see us," Derek said after they'd settled back and drove for a few more streets until they'd reached the road on the edge of the woods.

Stiles glanced at the time. "When did Isaac say they discovered the body?"

"He didn't. Isaac just said that he and Scott were driving back from some place and saw a line of cop cars and an ambulance heading for the forest. Isaac said it looked like they were heading for the river, since the road they were taking goes that way, so they followed and well…"

Stiles nodded.

They turned onto another road and started bumping through the dirt. It took Stiles several seconds to realize they were going toward the Hale house—and several more seconds to remember that the Hale house was just uphill of the river.

Derek pulled up and killed the engine. They weren't alone.


	7. Chapter 7

The house was alight with red and blue and swarmed with white police cruisers. On the broken down, charred porch was Sheriff Stilinski, Isaac, and Scott. Several other officers surveyed the area—but most were in the back portion of the house, checking out something in the frosted earth.

Stiles blew out a breath. "So is it too late to run and hide?"

Derek ignored him and stepped out.

"Hale."

"Sheriff."

"Stiles, get out of the car."

Stiles grimaced and slunk out, nervously slamming the door behind him. "Dad."

The Sheriff glanced between Stiles and Derek. "Don't move. We're going to talk in a minute." He took Derek by the shoulder and steered him toward the front porch.

"Shiiiiiiiittttttt," Stiles breathed. He leaned back against the passenger door, shuffling his feet through the dirt and fallen leaves. He stared at the ground for several minutes before chancing a glance up at the porch. There was some argument going on between Isaac, Scott, Derek and his father. Derek pointed to Stiles once. Sheriff Stilinski kept glancing over. _Breathe, Stiles, breathe. There's nothing going on. You were just hanging out with good 'ole Derek Hale. We're buddies! He's nice. Okay, that's a stretch. He's almost halfway decent. He didn't actually kill any of the people they accused him of killing, so the suspicion of murder thing won't hold. _Stiles took a few more calming breaths, arguing with himself that hanging out with Derek Hale was nothing weird or worth worrying over. Dad would be cool.

After a minute, his dad walked over. Derek stayed with his pups.

"Stiles—"

"There's nothing going on _I swear,"_ Stiles blurted before his father could utter another word.

Sheriff Stilinski narrowed his eyes. "Okay. If you'll let me finish."

Stiles chewed his lip, fingers clenching nervously at his sides.

"I need you to be honest with me, okay?"

Stiles swallowed and nodded.

"Was Derek with you this morning around seven?"

Stiles could feel a cold sweat on the back of his neck. He could hear the blood rushing through his veins. "Um, yes, he was."

The sheriff's shoulders sagged. "And he was with you just before you arrived?"

Stiles nodded. "But he just ate breakfast with me, _I swear._ And we were just going to watch _Iron Man._ I swear to God and all the feathery white angels in heaven."

His father just narrowed his eyes again. "Okay. How _long_ was Derek with you this morning?"

Stiles bit his lip. "Maybe an hour—two tops. He came by around 6:30 and stayed for breakfast." _Jesus H. Christ that sounded way too much like a breakfast date. Jesus H. Christ, why am I jumping to breakfast date? It was innocent time between sort of, maybe, friends. Jesus H. Christ. _Stiles just wanted to slap himself. His mind was short-circuiting based on a completely ridiculous fear of what his father _could_ be thinking but probably wasn't—at all.

His answer didn't seem to make his father any happier. He just put his hat back on and sighed. "Go home, Stiles. And we'll talk about your questionable judge of character later."

"Er, well, I _would_ but I came here with Derek."

That didn't make his father any happier. "Fine. Go wait in the cruiser. I'll take you back when we're done here."

Stiles grumbled something and went to stand against his father's police cruiser. Sheriff Stilinski glared, but went back to Derek and Co. They were too far away for Stiles to hear anything, but it seemed like Derek was off the hook. For now. Scott and Isaac were dismissed with a tried roll of the eyes and then his father was trudging around out back, shooting Stiles a look that said, "stay put."

As soon as the Sheriff was out of sight, Scott shot straight for Stiles. "Why are you here? And what are you doing with _him?"_ he demanded.

Isaac nervously flitted several paces behind, glancing at Derek who was leaning against his car across the way.

Stiles felt a twitch in his eye as he pulled his gaze from Isaac and onto Scott. "We were just hanging out," he replied with deathly calm.

Scott was taken aback. Stiles wasn't flailing. Stiles wasn't making wild gesticulations and shooting back with scathing sarcasm. The only signs of the Stiles Scott knew were the nervous tapping of his fingers on his arms and the trace twitches in his expression.

"Dude," Scott started, calming quickly, "are you okay?"

Stiles raised a brow and internally chastised himself for adopting Derek's go-to method of communication. "I'm perfectly fine."

Scott shook his head. "You don't look okay, dude. You've got…like dark circles under your eyes."

Stiles gritted his teeth. He felt the heat rising inside his chest. It was getting harder to restrain himself. "And—what exactly—do you care?" He blew out a breath. "I'm not up for conversation, dude." He turned his head away to glare at a tree. It was an annoying tree. With its…bare limbs.

Isaac slunk behind Scott and touched his shoulder. Scott nodded and followed Isaac away. When they disappeared into the trees, Stiles glanced away from the tree. His eyes rested on Derek across the lawn. He half-expected the guy to be staring at him, but Derek wasn't doing that. Derek was looking at the house—the charred and blackened building with rotted wood falling away from the sides that stretched upward like a black monolith in the darkness.

In the light of the half-moon, Derek looked paler than before. And the ghoulish red and blue police lights only accentuated the shadows and dips in his face, turning him almost skeletal. Stiles didn't know if he himself was okay, but he was about ninety-six percent certain that _Derek _wasn't. And it was that moment that Stiles began to really wonder about something he refused to wonder about before—why was Derek there? Why was Derek being so nice? He _hated_ Stiles. Couldn't stand him. Smashed his head into his steering wheel for the slightest embarrassment (okay maybe it wasn't exactly the _slightest)._ Stiles had made jabs at him nearly every chance he got—so why was Derek _there?_

Was it just the loneliness? Was he tired of being by himself—or was he just tired? And while Stiles knew part of Derek's tiredness and _deflation_ were due to the five out-of-sync teenagers he called a pack of which half were either not around or sick, it still didn't explain why Derek was _there._ He could understand the feeling of brokenness in the world around him, but what didn't add up was how that brokenness and loneliness translated to hanging out with the most insufferable teenager of them all.

"All your soulful brooding is starting to make you look like you're preparing for a role in an indie film," Stiles said quietly, knowing full-well Derek could hear him across the void with his sonic hearing.

Derek's mouth twitched, but he continued to gaze at what was once his home.

"And in that moment, I swear we were—"

Derek gave him a sharp look. A look that very clearly said. _"Stiles."_

"—_busted."_

Stiles saw Derek snort and turn his eyes to the sky like he was praying for God to deliver him from this creature.

"But seriously," Stiles continued, "we're so busted. If you're ever going to come over again, I swear to God you're going to have to ring the fucking doorbell and introduce yourself like you're my date." It was out before he could stop it. Cue internal screams. "Not that you're my date," he scrambled, flailing his arms in front of him, "just. Like. Dad is probably going to want the ex-murder suspect to, like, redeem himself or something. Make him think you're not going to murder me in my sleep—_notthatsleepingisgoingon."_ _Goddammit._ If he didn't believe in Freudian slips before, he believed in them now.

Derek was trying not to grin. It took him a few pained moments of biting his lip and digging fingernails into his arm to pull his face back together. He raised his brows with a face that said, _"Really?"_

Stiles pulled a hand over his face. "You should just forget everything I just said."

Derek shook his head.

Stiles glared.

Derek returned the look, a small smile creeping on his face.

Stiles stuck out his tongue.

Derek raised a brow.

They made more faces at each other until Stiles' father appeared around the corner. They both coughed and looked away, fragile stoicism masking twitching lips. Sheriff Stilinski paused, feet scrapping the cold dirt. He looked at Derek, sighed, shook his head, and walked over to Stiles.

"In."

Stiles scrambled to the passenger side and climbed in. His father shifted into reverse and peeled away from the house. They passed Derek on their way to the road, and Stiles gave him one last funny face through the window before settling into the leather.

"Look, Dad—"

"Stiles if you were lying to me—"

"—there's nothing goin—wait, what? Lying to you about what?"

His father glanced over. "Lying to me about Derek being at the house this morning. And why do you keep saying nothing is going on?"

Stile's waved his arms. "I'm not lying to about Derek being at the house. He was at the house. He ate our _bacon."_

His father tightened his grip on the wheel. "Dammit," he grumbled. They sat in silence for a few horrendously long and torturous minutes. "So why are you hanging out with Derek Hale all of the sudden? I thought you said you were too busy with projects and homework to hang out with people, which is why, I believed, I haven't seen Scott around lately."

"That's…right." No, it was a lie. It was all a lie. _Jesus Christ, I'm so pathetic I can't even tell my own father about how ridiculously alone I am all the time._

"So why am I getting the impression that you're lying to me about something?"

Stiles cringed in his seat. "That depends on how you define _impression."_

"Stiles."

"What? I'm not lying, okay? I do have a lot of work and stuff—and Derek doesn't interfere. He just shows up and sort of _lurks_. He's more like a table lamp than anything else."

"He lurks."

"Okay, not the best choice of words, but… yeah, essentially he lurks. I mean, if it were Scott—" Stiles' breath hitched for just a millisecond, "—if it were Scott, I'd never get anything done. He'd just pull me into a game of _Call of Duty_ and you would never see me again. But Derek is so culturally stunted, and I'm pretty sure he's been living under a rock for the last five years, that he's probably never even heard of _Call of Duty_."

"So let me just get this straight," his father said after a moment of deliberation, "Derek Hale, murder sus—"

"EX-murder suspect—"

"—Ex-murder suspect, but still a person of interest, is just coming over, while I'm gone, and _hanging out?_ Somehow, that doesn't seem quite right."

"Man's gotta have friends."

"Not that Hale kid."

"Which is why he _especially_ has to have friends."

His father sighed. "And why do these friends have to include you?"

Stiles shrugged. "It's not a problem. I'm a great friend to have. The hugs are free."

They turned off the main road and into the residential's. "All I'm saying," his father continued, "is that Derek Hale isn't exactly the best _friend_ to have. That boy has some demons to work out, to say the least. And he's five years older than you. I'd much rather see you being distracted by Scott."

Stiles chewed his lip. Hamlet had it wrong—to lie or not to lie, that was the true question. "Derek's not as bad as you think, Dad. Don't be distracted by his leather jackets or his vampire romance novel good looks. He's actually more…well-adjusted than I initially gave him credit for."

His father just gave him a _look._

"Not that I'm comparing anyone or _anything_ to a vampire romance novel. Because there's nothing going on."

"And there it is again. What exactly do you think I think is going on?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Sounds like nothing."

They turned into the driveway and Stiles nearly tripped over his own leg trying to get out. "Yes, it's nothing. We're just friends hanging out."

"Should I be worried?" His father called as Stiles opened the front door.

"Nope!" he heard his son yell. "Lots of work to do!"

The sheriff sighed and shook his head. He glanced up at the sky. "He thinks I'm blind."


	8. Chapter 8

Wednesday morning Stiles woke up in a tangle of sheets with half his body falling from the bed and his fingers scraping the blue carpet. He blinked and rolled down, unraveling his legs all the way.

"Jesus," he wheezed.

The cold brushed along his bare legs, starting with his numb toes and crawling to the hem of his boxer shorts. Stiles glared up at his bed where a shit ton of blankets were twisted and piled against the wall. It always ended up like that. He was a cold person in general and try as he might, he could never get the blankets to stay on.

Slowly, he sat up, mentally shaking the weight of sleep from his muscles. He glanced at his window. The curtains were open and the damp grey fog of morning lay heavy in the air. Also, there was a large black figure sitting just outside, glaring in Stiles' general direction. One slow blink later and he was crawling back into bed, throwing the blankets back over him until he was just a mound of fluff.

"No," he protested, "fugging shits too early for this motherfuggin creepy-ass shit," knowing full well that creepy fucker could hear him loud and clear.

"Stiles!"

"Fuck you and fuck your perfect eyebrows," Stiles groaned into his pillow.

"Stiles this is serious—open the window!"

Stiles curled up and pulled the blankets more tightly around him.

"Jackson is sick now."

His eyes flew open. He halfway decided to jump out of bed but then backtracked. "Douchenozzle deserves it." Derek growled. Stiles grinned and pressed a hand to his mouth to suppress his laughter.

"Open the window, Stiles."

Stiles took a breath. It was probably six—seven a.m. at the most. The guy had a real problem with coming over way too early. Stiles rolled over and peaked through the blankets. Six. It was six in the morning. Derek was still waiting expectantly behind the glass. Mouth twitching at the sight of that grumpy face, Stiles rolled out of bed.

Derek scooted up, eyes darting to the latch. "Yeah that's—"

Stiles zipped the blinds in his face and pull the curtains over. At last. Darkness. He breathed a sigh of relief, which was cut off by the banging. "Yer gonna break my window, asshole. Come back at a decent hour."

"Stiles! I need you to help me figure this out."

"Ask the Argents or Deaton or even Scott. Scott's smarter than he looks," Stiles replied crawling back under the warm covers.

_"Stiles!"_

"Don't be fooled by his poor GPA!"

There was a loud thump, a string of curses, and then a heavy crash—and more curses. Stiles vaguely wondered if he should check how the hedge broke his fall, but then decided werewolf healing would suffice. With a satisfied smirk, Stiles wrapped himself like a burrito and settled back into the weight of fatigue and sleep. He barely closed his eyes when there was a loud bang downstairs.

"Stiles!" Derek yelled. He trudged up the stairs.

"Aw shit," Stiles muffled into his pillow.

He grabbed the corner of his pillow just as Derek burst through the door, hair out-of-place with twigs and leaves sticking in odd places. He was furious—or at least it seemed that way to Stiles. Blazing red eyes and all. Derek took a second to bear down with his murderous glare and take a few heavy breaths, and it was just the second Stiles needed. He threw his pillow and, taking Derek by surprise, it smacked right into his face.

It flopped down and Derek was stunned. His eyes followed the flurry of blue fabric and just _stared._ All red gone from his eyes.

"…_What?"_

Stiles tried not to cringe. "What?"

"What," Derek asked with more conviction, "the _hell?"_

Stiles felt like scrambling out of there but forced himself to stay put. "Whatthehellwhat? Idon'tevenknowwhatyouaretalkingab out."

They stared at each other for the longest minute in the world.

"You…threw a pillow at me."

"You broke down my front door."

"No I didn't."

"Don't fucking lie."

"I didn't. There was a key under your mat!"

"Then what's with all the noise?"

"…I swung it open a little too hard."

Stiles' eye twitched. "Please tell me there isn't a door knob sized hole in the wall."

"There…isn't."

"Goddammit Derek." Stiles threw the covers off and stomped past Derek into the hall. He barreled down the stairs and flew straight to the open door, which was letting all the warm air out. A chilly breeze hovered around his ankles, and he shuffled anxiously while inspecting the damage one hand on the brass knob. "_Goddammit Derek this is why we can't have nice things."_

"I…"

Stiles whipped around, hand on his heart. "Jesus H. Christ. Don't sneak up."

"You knew I was there!"

"You need a bell collar."

Derek glared. "No dog jokes."

"I can make whatever jokes I want, asshat! You made a _hole_ in my fucking _wall." _Stiles kicked the door shut, showing him the massive, crumbly black hole in the wall. He picked a blue painted piece off the ground and waved it in his face. "See this? I have to get _paint_ now and friggin' _Spackle. _Although, I'm not even sure Spackle can fix this shit. And you are so lucky Dad is working on that murder because goddamn Derek this is not—" _a way to impress him or get him to trust you or a very good second/third (?) impression. _"—Okay. This is not okay. And you're lucky because we've got time to fix this before he sees it."

Derek gritted his teeth. "It's not my fault. You pissed me off." His eyes flashed red. He was trying to assert whatever feeble sense of authority he had left.

Stiles raised a brow. "You come here at the asscrack of dawn and expect me to just hop up and help you on your adventures because you say so—after a long night of trying to tell my father it was okay to go back to work and that Derek Hale wasn't going to murder me in my sleep—and _you_ get mad at _me_ when I say no? So mad that you blow a _fucking hole in my wall trying to break down my door._ I thought Jackson was a total tool, but you're like even worse at this point."

Derek had the absolute _gall_ to look offended. He took an involuntary step back, eyes flickering between red and hazel. "Jackson is…"

"Sick? Catatonic like Erica and Boyd?" he demanded.

Derek nodded.

"Yeah, well, what do you expect me to do about it?"

It was rhetorical of course, but Derek lacked the ability to take social cues so he sputtered for a few moments before saying, "I don't know I thought you might come out to the crime scene with me to see if we could find anything."

Stiles glared. "And what about Scott and Isaac? They've got sniffers, too. Better eyesight probably. Take one of them." _Or maybe you'd prefer to go by yourself? Why would you want a spastic teen anyway?_

"Scott won't answer my calls. Isaac… I don't know. He's probably with him. I just need a second pair of eyes."

"And _why_ this early?"

"The police finally left."

"And you couldn't wait?"

"I don't know when they'll come back."

Stiles continued to glare, but most of his anger was dissipated at this point. Derek just sort of stood there looking half-afraid of what was going to happen. After a moment, Stiles let out a puff of air. "Bacon." He glanced down. "And maybe some pants."

Derek followed his gaze. "Right." His face looked a little pink. Maybe it was the dispersing anger.

"And my dad shouldn't be back till dinner. So after we sneak into the crime scene we're going to the hardware store and you're going to buy some spackle and paint and then you're going to fix my wall. Got that?"

Derek nodded. "Fine."

"Good dog."

Derek growled.

Stiles winked and flew past Derek and into the kitchen. Half an hour later they were flying down an empty street, straight through the green lights and onto the road just at the edge of town to the Hale house.

"Seriously? This is the music you listen to?" Stiles shifted in the leather seat and shuffled through Derek's Ipod.

"…Yes."

Stiles raised his eyebrows as he scrolled through the endless house music with a few indie rock songs and bands dotted in between. "I don't know, man, I thought you were more like an 80's rock guy. Journey, Creedence Clearwater Revival, AC/DC. Maybe even some Beatles. But now that I see this, it all makes sense."

"I don't understand."

"Car, leather jackets, tight jeans that are super ass-entuating—you probably fit in at all the raves. And now I'm fairly certain you were probably a party animal back in New York. Come on, fess up, you could dance your way along a bar or two."

Derek's face flushed a light shade of pink. "No."

"Liar."

Derek glanced at his in the corner of his eyes. "I'm not."

Stiles grinned. "You're such a liar. I bet you went to all the clubs, got fucking wasted, and went home with all kinds of strangers. Maybe even…blowsies in the parking lot." Stiles wagged his eyebrows. He was probably going to regret this conversation later, but right now it was too much fun watching Derek squirm in his seat.

Derek swallowed and coughed. "No. We didn't go to any clubs." They bumped onto the dirt path of the forest. A few more minutes and they'd be at the Hale house.

"Oh so just blowsies in the parking lots then? Couldn't even make it in the club without having some dude or chick—whatever you're in to—throwing themselves at your feet and just—"

Derek nearly swerved off the path.

"Jesus, Derek!"

"Can we not talk about blow jobs when we're about to go to a crime scene?"

Stiles' face cracked into a loud laugh. "I was just teasing oh my God."

Derek glanced nervously at Stiles. They stopped in front of the house, and he killed the engine.

"You totally deserve it," Stiles said as he got out.

Derek followed after him, a dark look in his eyes. They started trudging across the crackling, frosty leaves to the back of the house.

"But seriously, did you get blowsies in the parking lot?"

_"Stiles."_

Stiles waved his arms. "What? I'm not allowed to ask? Come on, just tell me."

"Why do you want to know?"

"I don't know. I just find it hard to believe that all _that_ is or has been going to waste because you refuse to put something resembling a smile on your face."

Derek stopped Stiles by the shoulder. "Once."

"What?" he asked turning around.

"Once. I was given a blow job in a parking lot _once._"

Stiles' mouth went dry and he was pretty sure his jaw was hanging around his ankles. Derek looked a little like he was going to combust the way his neck was flaming red. He let go and practically ran ahead of Stiles. It took Stiles a second to absorb what he just said before he shook himself and trotted after, the mental image sticking to the front of his brain.

"So—was it like a random hook-up or did you know the person?"

"Stiles."

"Just answer the question."

Derek sighed. "Random."

"Did you at least know their name?"

"Can we not talk about my sex life?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's _personal."_

"So?"

Derek rubbed a hand down his face, eyes glaring into the misty trees. "Yes, okay, I knew their name. I met them at a bar, got drunk, and then it just happened."

"And this happened in New York?"

"Yes."

"And did you ever talk to them after that?"

"No."

"So you're like a hook-up guy then? Prefer to keep your options open…?"

Derek growled. "It was just a one-time thing. I'd never done anything like that before."

"Okay but tell me that you at least dated. Flirted. Something."

Derek rolled his eyes. "No, not that I remember."

Stiles groaned. "You wasted all that. For years. Oh my God."

"What does it matter to you?"

"I just… I'm going to regret saying this but… I swear if I looked half as hot as you I wouldn't be sitting around moping, I'd be getting some action. Lots of action—in lots of different positions."

Derek snorted. "I'm not like that, okay. I…had one relationship in my life and it didn't turn out very well. I'd rather not get involved with anyone."

Stiles glanced behind him at the house that was barely visible through the mist and trees. "What if you liked someone, though?"

Derek eyed Stiles for what seemed like forever as they waded through the fallen leaves. "I don't usually like people right away."

"Okay then what if you met a person, didn't like them, got to know them, realized how awesome they were, and then realized you liked them? What then?"

Derek shrugged. "It'd be better if I didn't get involved. I'm not exactly safe. Can we talk about something else? Or maybe just not talk at all, that'd be great."

Stiles tried not to grin. "Big bad wolf scared by feelings conversation. Right. Gotta talk about manly things. Crime scenes! Sick wolves! Blood! Dead bodies! Yeah I'm feeling sufficiently manly now. I can feel the testosterone pulsing through my veins." He wiggled his arms and began dancing around Derek.

"Stop that."

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"You're so weird."

"Maybe you'll think twice about waking me up this early because I can only get weirder."

Next thing he knew he was being pushed behind the nearest tree with a hand over his mouth. Derek put a finger to his lips. At Stiles' confused look Derek nudged his head to something beyond the tree.

"Something there," he mouthed.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles nodded.

They grew silent. Stiles strained his ears, but he couldn't hear what Derek was apparently hearing. A long minute passed with only the sound of a crow in the distance. Then Stiles heard it—a faint crunching. Someone was walking through the leaves. Derek tensed, hands gripping his red sweatshirt. A twig cracked off to the left. Both of them jumped. When they settled back a moment later, the walking stopped. Derek frowned, trying to hear the footsteps—or just _something_ in particular—but couldn't.

He stepped back and furrowed his brow. "They're gone," he said.

"What do you mean?"

Derek shook his head, eyes drifting into the distance. "I don't know. There's no footsteps, no heartbeat, nothing. Whoever it was is just gone."

Stiles felt a tingle at the back of his neck. "Oh brilliant. That's definitely not disconcerting at all. I mean that's all we needed: ghosts or phantoms or some teleporting creature to freak the shit out of all of us."

Derek just gave him a _look_. "Come on. Crime scene."

And they were back to trekking down the hill to the river. When they finally reached the area quartered off by yellow tape, Derek already noticed something weird. He slid through the leaves, lifted the police line over his head, and stepped onto the mossy rocks by the stream. Stiles quickly followed, being careful not to step on the little tape and cone line the police had put where the body was found.

"Whoa," Stiles said, following Derek's gaze. "That's where the body was."

Derek nodded. "It wasn't like this last night."

"I really hope not."

In the exact area where the body had laid the smooth rocks were tinged with some sort of blue, glistening sheen. Derek squatted down and reached out a finger, but Stiles stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Whoa dude, no, don't touch it."

"Why not?"

"Several reasons. One being that you don't know what it is." Stiles reached into his pocket, pulled out two pairs of blue latex gloves, and handed one pair to Derek. "Another being that this is a crime scene. Don't leave any fingerprints. Dad and the rest of the police are already suspicious, don't make them count you as a suspect."

"You just walk around with gloves in your pocket?"

Stiles slapped one of the gloves to the back of Derek's head. "No, you moron. You said we were going to the crime scene, so I grabbed them."

Derek slapped the gloves over his hands and bent down to inspect the blue filmy substance on the rocks. Stiles stood, hands on his hips and glancing around nervously. Derek reached out a finger again and lifted some of the substance onto the tip. His nostrils flared. His face scrunched as he sort of flinched back.

"What? What is it?"

"It's…nothing." His brow furrowed as he stared at the gooey stuff on his fingertips.-

"Don't get cagey on me now."

"No—it's _nothing._ There's no scent."

Stiles bit his lip as he started to dance around on his feet. "Plenty of things don't have scents," he said.

Derek shook his head. "Maybe to your human senses—to us…everything has a scent."

Stiles took a breath, face compressing in worry. "Shit."

"Yeah."

"This is probably not normal."

"No."

"So not normal. Like, supernatural."

Derek nodded.

"Fuck." Stiles swiped a hand down his face.

"Do you have a plastic bag on you, too?"

"No?"

Derek reached into his jacket and pulled out a pocketknife. He sprung it open and scraped some of the blue stuff onto the blade. "Give me one of your gloves." Stiles peeled the latex off his hand and handed it over. Derek slid the stuff on the inner lip and tied a knot at the end. "We'll give it to Deaton. Maybe he knows what it is."

Stiles nodded, swallowing his deep sense of foreboding with pursed lips. Derek stood up and led the way back to his car. When they slid inside, Stiles asked, "So…Jackson is sick? How bad? Erica and Boyd bad?"

Derek turned on the ignition and switched the gear into reverse, turning the wheel until he was facing the path back out the woods. "Yeah," he said. "It happened faster than them, too. Maybe because he's the newest wolf out of all of them. I don't know." He gritted his teeth, glaring out the window in front of him as they barreled through the trees.

Stiles nodded, twitching nervously in his seat. He took his Adderall. He was okay. So why was he so twitchy? And why was his heart beating out of his chest? This could not be a panic attack. No.

"That's probably it," he said. "No change in Erica and Boyd, though?"

Derek shook his head.

"That's good. Well, okay, not _good_ per say. But at least they didn't get worse, so yeah it's pretty good. All things considering. How's Deaton with those tests?"

"He had to send some to a lab in another city."

"Oh. Well that could take some time then. I see. Y'know I think they're gonna be okay. Kanima poison worked on wolves but it wore off. Maybe this is like that, and they just need time to recover. Yeah." Stiles trailed off, unsure how to keep saying _they were going to be okay_ without sounding like he really didn't know what the hell was going on or what the hell was going to happen. He bit his lip. Because he really didn't know.

Derek made a sharp turn out of the woods and onto the main road. "I just," he started, stopping to take an anger-filled breath.

"What?"

"Don't know what to do."

"Oh." _What am I supposed to even say to that?_ "Um, you'll figure it out?" _Lame._

Derek glanced at him from the corner of his eye. He puffed out a breath and rolled his eyes heavenward. "I don't know what is happening, okay? I just… I'm just not good at this."

"Not good at what? Figuring stuff out? Ugh, Derek, seriously. Yeah sure it took you forever to realize your uncle was a psycho-axe-murderer. And then there was the time you literally fell for the kanima's tricks. And of course let's not forget the whole Gerard scene. But like—"

"_Stiles."_

Stiles held up his hands. "Dude, all I'm saying is that you're obviously not Sherlock Holmes. You figure things out when they become all obvious and shit—just like most of the population. It's not like that's a terrible thing—"

"But it _is."_

Stiles shook his head. "Uh, no. Because no one expects you to have all the answers anymore. I mean, yeah sure when you first blew into town all creepy and weird _some_ of us probably thought you knew everything—Scott believed you could help him with all the new wolfy madness. But like, let's be honest here, okay? You're barely an Alpha. You're like five years older than I am. Your childhood ended really early and really dramatically. So in reality you're actually like a teenager in this huge _muscley_ adult body. For God's sake you own a _Camaro _but live in a _subway cart._ Lord knows what you _eat._ Jesus, it's either rabbits you hunt at the full moon or Captain Crunch. I swear to God. But, I digress. My point is that it's fairly obvious that you're not this omniscient, wolf-yoda or anything. It's also obvious that you have no idea what you're doing half the time—but guess what? No one cares. No one fucking cares, Derek. Isaac, Scott, all of them realize this by now—so no, no one expects you to have all the answers and to solve every goddamn problem in this town. So stop beating yourself up over it. Got it?"

Derek's hands were clenched over the steering wheel and his face was set in an angry mask dedicated to the road ahead. He looked like he was an inch away from tossing Stiles out—while they were still moving. Slowly though he began to relax, taking long breaths.

"And stop that. You're going to pop a vein—possibly an artery."

His eyes flashed red in Stiles' direction. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah sure."

Derek turned left and sped down the near empty street, passing through the green lights until they were just a block away from the vet's. He slowed down, turned into the parking lot and shuddered to a stop right at the entrance.

"Stay here," he commanded as he jumped out of the car. "And don't fucking touch anything."

Stiles just put his hands up in surrender. Derek glared one last time before running inside. It was several minutes of impatient jittering before Derek came back out…followed by Scott who frowned at Stiles in the passenger seat. Derek nudged his head, and Stiles took the hint. He got out, nearly slamming his hoodie in the car door when he turned to shut it. Derek walked around to the other side and leaned against the car, waiting.

"Hey Stiles," Scott said.

Stiles nodded. "Hey."

"Uh, what's up?"

"Just dropping some stuff off and then going to the home improvement place down the street."

"You and Derek?"

"Yes."

Scott glanced at the leather-clad figure only a few feet away. Hesitantly, he stepped forward and took Stiles by the shoulder, pulling him a little further away. "Um, why exactly?"

"He smashed a hole in my wall, and I'm going to get him to fix it before Dad comes home and sees it. Why?"

Scott blinked. "I just… I _told _you already." His voice got low, eyes glancing at Derek over his shoulder. "It's probably not a good idea to _you know."_

"No I don't know. Enlighten me."

Scott tensed. "Look okay, he's not like _terrible_ or anything, but he's also not _good._"

"What are you my father?"

"Stiles—"

He shrugged off Scott's hand. "Did you just follow him out here to lecture me? I thought you and he were like pack now—pack _adjacent_, or something. You've come to an understanding. What's your problem, man?"

"His problem is that you're hanging out with _Derek Hale_."

Stiles jumped and turned around. "_Lydia?_ I didn't eve—don't sneak up—Jesus."

Lydia looked, if it were even possible, more radiant than ever. Her strawberry blonde curls were glinting even in the foggy grey atmosphere. And her warm blue coat gave a certain powdered look to her appearance that made her seem soft despite the hard edge to her eyes and the stiff, angry lip. If Stiles hadn't felt so utterly put off by her renewed love with Jackson, he might have fallen right back on the Lydia Train right then.

Lydia eyed Derek who was still somehow remaining stoic despite the fact that he could probably hear every word of their conversation. "I personally don't have _much_ of a problem with him. I haven't spoken to him enough to accurately judge him. However, if I believed in luck, I'd say he's the bad kind."

"He can hear you," Scott mumbled.

Lydia raised a brow. "Good. Because he should hear it. Stiles, it's not exactly smart to hang out with him. He turned my boyfriend and bunch of teenagers and half of them didn't turn out so well. Not even to mention that he's a walking target. Sure Allison and her father have hung up the crossbows and all, but that doesn't automatically take away the bounty on his head. Hanging out with him will only put you in the crosshairs. Now look, it's really up to you whether you risk your life or not, but I at least hope you listen when I tell you that it isn't smart. I don't give advice often, so you should take it."

Stiles glared between the two of them. "Derek's not all that bad okay? He's an idiot for sure, but he's not _bad._ You guys are making a big deal out of nothing."

Lydia shook her head. "He bit Jackson and then he turned into a giant lizard that tried to kill everyone—and now he's catatonic on a metal table. So, I don't think I'm making a big deal out of nothing."

"Derek's not the one at fault for those things. Jackson turned into a kanima because of _himself,_ and you can't blame him for something none of us know anything about."

"My point is that people around him tend to get hurt." Lydia waved her hand. "But it's really none of my business. If you want to get back in that car, then that's up to you. Neither Scott nor I will stop you."

"Lydia—"

She gave Scott a firm look. "Neither of us."

Stiles shook his head. "You guys are overreacting." He turned back and headed back to the car.

Derek turned around slowly, eyes wavering between Stiles and everywhere else.

"Goddammit. Derek, you still have to fix my wall."

Derek sighed and got back in the car with Stiles right behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Truth be told, Stiles wasn't sure if Lydia and Scott were wrong…so to speak. Yes, when looked at in a certain light, Derek was a sort of _constant factor_ in the crazy, violence that had become Beacon Hills. And it wasn't coincidence either. Far from it. Wherever Derek stepped, misfortune seemed to follow. The guy couldn't catch a break.

But it also wasn't like everything that happened was his fault. Sure, maybe if he hadn't bitten Jackson none of the kanima stuff would have happened—but then again maybe if Jackson weren't such an emotionally stunted douchebag with a Loki complex he would have just turned into a wolf like he was supposed to. And no one could blame Derek for getting involved with Kate because she was a manipulative bitch that took advantage of his innocence, so that was out. And yeah Scott blamed Derek for ruining his life—making sure he had _no_ chance at all at a normal life by killing Peter—but the whole idea was a long shot in the first place. There was no definitive proof that it would have worked.

Yet…Derek hadn't exactly made any moves to redeem himself. In fact he made more problems: Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. And it's not like he's the winner of Alpha of the Year or anything—two of them decided to book it right out of town when things got a little hairy, Derek absolutely failed to help Scott control his abilities—instead Stiles had to do it—and he sort of indirectly killed Allison's mom. So Derek wasn't really a good guy—but he also wasn't a bad guy, which is why Stiles had a hard time justifying hanging out with Derek when everyone generally agreed that Derek wasn't someone they wanted to hang around. He must be missing some grand part of the puzzle here. That had to be the only explanation.

Stiles thought about this the entire drive to the home improvement store and thought about this while looking for Spackle and paint and thought some more about this the drive back to his house. And he was uncharacteristically silent the entire time, which made Derek increasingly nervous as the minutes passed without even the slightest sarcastic remark_ even _when Derek went out of his way to avoid the only other customer in the store—an old lady with a cat carrier. And there were a lot of sarcastic remarks that could have been made about _that._ But as soon as the door opened, and Stiles set foot onto the blue carpet and spotted his dad's giant blue marlin above the dining room table he broke his silence.

"Sure you're scary and all, but it's not like you're some amoral, rabid beast!" he exclaimed as though they were having a conversation this whole time.

Derek coughed and nearly slipped over the neon green _J&O Plumbers _commercial leaflet that fell from the open door. "What?"

"It's true, it's true," Stiles said shutting the door. "You are rather terrifying—on first glance. Alright maybe the second or third glance, too—but that's not the point—"

"Stiles," Derek interrupted with a pointed glance to the stairs.

"What—oh _hey_ Dad! Home early, I see." Stiles stepped closer to Derek—right in front of the massive hole in the wall. But it was too late by the way his father simply raised a brow.

"I forgot some papers," he said. "You have something you want to tell me?"

Stiles could practically feel Derek tensing up inside his leather jacket right next to him. "Er…like what?"

"Like how you decided to build a new window?"

Stiles tried to smile but it was more of a grimace. "It was, uh, an accident. We were totally going to fix it."

"We?" the Sherriff glanced at Derek. "You were here when this happened?"

Derek swallowed. "Uh, yeah."

"It's not even ten—how early were you here? No, don't answer that. I'm starting to get the idea that I probably won't like the reason. Stiles, can I talk to you in the kitchen for a minute?"

Stiles glanced at Derek and nodded. "Yeah sure. Is this an exact minute, though? We've got some stuff to do, you know, like manly stuff—"

"Stiles." He took him by the shoulder and steered his son into the kitchen. As soon as he thought it was far enough away he said, "Stiles, if something is going on between you and that Hale kid—"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I'm not an idiot, you know. I can see how you might be _attracted_ to—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Stiles interrupted, waving his hands. "_Attracted?_ Yeah sure anyone who isn't _blind_ can see how totally smokin' the guy is, but Dad c'mon. This is me we're talking about." _Derek is so out of my league, it's laughable really. Not even to mention that he's Derek Motherfuckin' Hale._

His father sighed again. "What else am I supposed to think? You're suddenly hanging out with him and he's at our house _early in the morning._ Just….spare me the lies and tell me you're using protection at least."

Stiles nearly choked on his own breath. "_What?" _He could feel the heat on his face and the horror churning in his abdomen. _Oh my fucking GOD. Derek had to be hearing this. He could probably hear China. _"No! Jesus, no, Dad. God. We're not doing _that,_ okay? Jesus," he hissed, glancing nervously in the general direction of the front hall. "We're just friends, oh my God." He put his hands on his face. "I can't believe—_God. _Why would you jump to that—_No, I don't want to know."_

His father colored a bit. "Well then what was he doing here early in the morning?"

Stiles tried to rub the mortification from his face. "Derek's an early riser—God not like that—he came by to…borrow a book and then on the way out I accidentally slammed the door open too hard and then our new window appeared. That's it."

And if he didn't already feel like shit for lying, he definitely felt like shit seeing the way his dad took the mortification of making such an _outlandish_ assumption.

His father coughed into his hand. "Well then, erm, okay. Sorry—let's not. Okay. So you're the one that made that hole."

Stiles grimaced. "…Sorry?"

"I expect it to be fixed by the time I come home." He nodded, glanced away, and nodded again. "And I still don't know how I feel about you hanging out with Derek Hale, but I've got two unsolved murders and not enough time to deal with it."

Stiles nodded. "Noted."

His dad hesitated, nodded again, and started walking out of the kitchen.

"You got your papers?"

He waved the files in his hand and walked out the front door, giving Derek—who was standing awkwardly as far away as he could without being in the next room—one last weary glance before shutting the door. Stiles followed quickly behind, checking through the curtain that his father was truly leaving. He snapped the curtain shut and turned on Derek.

"You gotta stop showing up early in the morning. He thinks were _fucking—"_ Stiles felt the waves of heat on his face. _Goddammit._ He huffed. He was not going to let that not so subliminal message get to him. Nope, he wasn't going to start thinking of him and Derek _fucking—Goddammit._

Derek looked about as red as Stiles. He swallowed and looked heavenward and then at the door.

"No, you're fixing my wall."

"You know…they're not wrong."

"…what?"

"No, not…not about _that._" Derek was bright red. "Just. They're not wrong—about _me._ I-I'm not exactly good."

Stiles raised a brow. Good on to different subjects. "That's true. You're not." Stiles opened the bag they got from the home improvement store and tossed him the Spackle. "Let's face it Derek: you've done some shitty things. Like being generally creepy and ruining any chance Scott had of having a normal life—quit inspecting the damn can like its going to sprout wings—another of which was creating three betas out of a bunch of misfits and exposing them to the danger that has become Beacon Hills." He pulled the small can of paint out and put it on the cedar wood table. He raised his brows and tipped his head to the wall. Derek gave him a glare but got the hint. "I don't approve of ninety percent of things you've done since you got into town, Derek. But I think your failure in your misguided quest for power is enough of a slap to your pride, so I'm not going hold it against you anymore. And if it means anything at all: you might have done shitty things but I don't think your intentions were shitty."

Derek glanced at him, uncertainty in his eye. Stiles shrugged with a growing smile. "Besides, you're fixing my wall free-of-charge"

Derek turned back to his work, sculpting the Spackle over the damaged area with a neon orange plastic scraper. "…Thanks… I think."

Stiles grinned and slapped his shoulder. "Dude, it's cool. Everyone's done shitty things. Remember that time I dug up your dead sister and got you imprisoned for her murder?"

Derek was on instant glare.

"Good times."

Derek huffed and stepped back. It needed to set but it didn't look half bad. Derek nodded.

"Looking good," Stiles said.

Derek glanced at him. "I think so."

"Let's let it set while we watch—"

Derek grabbed his arm.

"What?"

He took a breath. "You were right about me. I...am lonely. Have been. And, I guess I'm pretty selfish and prideful. And not good. At all. It'd be better if you just told me to leave."

Derek was only an inch taller so they were within inches of each other, just staring for what seemed like forever. Derek wanted him to kick him to the curb because he couldn't do it himself. He was selfish enough to not do it himself, but worried enough to give Stiles that choice. Except it felt like the choice went deeper than that by the way Derek was looking at him—intense, searching, _asking._

"Dude did you forget about the fact _that I'm in the same boat?_ I'd rather hang out with your grumpy ass than just sit around this house pathetically moping about my life." He gingerly lifted his hand and patted the leather around Derek's shoulder. "S'okay, bro. You can stay—especially because you still have to paint over it."

Derek slowly uncurled his tense fingers from around Stiles' arm. For a second, Stiles felt weird with the loss of that dude's vice grip. As though nearly losing an arm because _someone_ didn't know his strength was uncomfortable. But he got over the weird feeling just as quickly staring into the heavy gaze of Derek's. Slowly, he nodded and tried to smile at Stiles.

"Thanks… I mean that."

And it was that look—the soft look in Derek's hazel eyes brightened by his lightly tanned skin and black hair that hit Stiles like a ton of bricks. But it wasn't until much later, after Derek had left through his window that night, when he was watching a swarm of butterflies disperse as Derek jumped down, that Stiles recognized the feeling.

Blood pulsing hot whenever he looked at him. A strange magnetic tug inside his gut where a thousand butterflies took flight and made him shiver. The way he quite easily let Derek assimilate himself into his life. This thing…was a crush. He was flirting and now he was crushing.

This couldn't get any worse.


	11. Chapter 11

Thursday passed with nothing new from Derek. Stiles had texted him asking if any change was wrought in Erica, Boyd, and Jackson—there was none. Stiles continued with his holiday assignments and his project, wondering why Derek hadn't made an effort to contact him other than the one word reply. He sanded down the wood in the back of his house where the weeds grew next to the cement walkway with a furrowed brow, trying to understand if there were other implications to the word _no._ It was clearly an idiotic response but he couldn't help but obsess. And eventually he had to simply stop himself, wipe his brow, and go inside for a hot shower because this obsession with Derek Hale was getting out of hand.

Of course the shower only brought more thoughts. His brain was a warzone between psychotic and rational. _Is Derek avoiding me now?_ _Really, Stiles, it's been less than a day._ _I hope he got I was mostly joking about the whole being shitty thing. Okay yeah half-kidding. Jesus, I hope he didn't let Scott or Lydia's personal vendetta's get to him. Maybe he's decided he doesn't want to hang out anymore. No, he's probably just got things to do—like check on his betas. And brood and stuff. The guy likes to brood. Maybe he didn't like Iron Man. _Stiles laughed. Who didn't like _Iron Man_?

Stiles rinsed his hair out, still laughing. "I'm such an idiot," he mumbled.

_You're only obsessing because you sort of kind of have a crush on him. And who wouldn't? He's a smoking hot badass. And sure yeah he's done some things that weren't entirely redeemable, but they weren't entirely NOT redeemable either. I mean yes, he put them in danger and didn't train them well enough to control themselves, but Erica, Isaac, and Boyd are arguably better since they were bitten aside from the whole catatonic stuff. Very grey area stuff. Still…he's got a good heart once you get past the rough exterior. The really thick rough exterior. And he's hot. Like really, really hot. _

"Goddamn those cheekbones," Stiles muttered. "And those abs. Je_sus_." _Eyes. Mouth. Hair. _"God his hair." This wasn't a very safe train of thought, but he couldn't stop. All those well-defined muscles that could only be there from hours and hours of training and honing his body to its most perfect form. There was such a sense of utter control that Stiles wondered what it'd be like to poke at those cords that kept him together. What it would be like to watch them uncoil and see him fall apart until he was a clenching, shuddering mess on a tangle of sheets. He'd seen him in pain, and that was an experience both traumatizing and hot. Now Stiles wanted to know how he looked when he was in ecstasy.

The image brought heat to his neck and a tingling along his cock. Stiles reached down and touched his growing erection as the water beat down his back, imagining Derek stretched out in front of him, back arching under him, eyes fluttering with each thrust, breath coming in short gasps, muscles along his sides and chest tensing and bracing. And maybe Derek did have a bit of wolfishness to him and liked to bite—not too hard, just enough to leave faint marks on the neck. Or maybe he was more of a teeth scraper, dragging his teeth across skin and leaving gentle kisses at very precise stops. Stiles slid his hand down his shaft, exhaling with each pull. Where were Derek's weak points? Ears? Neck? Nipples? Inner thigh? Maybe he liked the feeling of nails scratching down his back. Stiles rubbed a thumb over his sensitive tip. The pleasure went up his spine and he moved faster, feeling the building sensation under his balls. He thought of Derek getting a blow job in a dark parking lot—and was too turned on by the idea that he didn't care that someone else had done it to him.

One hand went to the tiled wall of the shower as the other pumped harder. Pre-come slid from the tip, slicking his path further as he gripped tight and pulled back. "Fuck…_fuck."_ Electricity started below his balls, he went faster, and then his body wrenched long shudders straight from his center. He came all over the shower wall, letting the water from above wash it down and the electrical shivers wrack his body. "Fuuuuck."

Stiles let out a long exhale and leaned back against the tiled wall, closing his eyes briefly as the pleasure subsided. When he felt well enough, he turned off the water and got out. Part of him hoped this _crush_ on Derek Hale that was leading to intense masturbating sessions in the shower would soon leave him alone—and part of him almost maybe liked feeling this sensation for someone other than Lydia Martin. Of course, that didn't mean the target of his _affections_ was any different _league-wise._ And that was probably worse than the fact that he had this crush thing sitting in him. Because he'd been there and done that, why did he have to torture himself in this way again?

Maybe if he kept telling himself that it wasn't really a crush because Derek still (sort of) scared him then he could logic himself out of this mess. Yeah. That's what he was going to do.

He heard the door slam downstairs. It was only six—was his dad home already?

"Stiles!" his father called.

"Bathroom!" he shouted back.

His dad lugged up the steps while Stiles dried himself off. "Stiles… I came back to tell you that it's going to be a late night at the office," he said behind the door.

Stiles paused while pulling his black and grey striped sweater over his head. Why didn't he just text him that? And there was something in his voice…

"You could have just texted me that, Dad." He pulled up his sweat pants and opened the door.

His father didn't look okay. Dark circles, worry lines, shirt looked like he hadn't had time to change into a clean one. And he wouldn't look him in the eye.

"What's going on?"

Stiles' dad took a breath. "It's…Scott."

All lingering sexy Derek thoughts flew out the window, and everything froze. His mouth went dry. The earth vibrated in his vision. And for a second it seemed like his heart was going to stop. But then it all tumbled back into motion a second later. "Wh—what about Scott?" he breathed, fearing the worst.

"His mother called today to tell me that he never came home from work last night."

All words dried up on Stiles' tongue. His mouth opened in a small 'o' and his heart hammered in his chest, nearly deafening any thoughts that _could_ have crossed his brain.

"But, look, Stiles. I'm sure Scott just forgot to let her know where he is. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."

But there was everything to worry about. Scott wasn't invulnerable. He thought back to Erica and Boyd—sitting on the cold metal tables, eyes milked over, bodies stiff and unresponsive. They were okay because Derek was with them since it began. Jackson presumably was with Lydia. But what about Scott? What if whatever got to them got to him and he was lying in the middle of the forest with no one around?

"Hey," his father said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Hey are you okay?"

Stiles swallowed back the rising fear in his throat and nodded.

The worry lines deepened. "Are you sure?"

Stiles let out a breath. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just…yeah I'm sure he's okay."

"So you haven't seen him?"

Stiles shook his head. "I saw him yesterday morning…he was at the vet's with Lydia."

His father nodded. "I guess I'll have to talk to her. Stiles…it's going to be okay. Like I said, it's probably nothing to worry about." He gave his son a quick hug with a pat and then trudged back down the stairs.

Stiles stood under the bathroom doorway for several minutes, trying to keep those fears locked down tight in his gut. But the heart-pounding violent quivering seeped through in nervous breaths as he struggled for control. Every fiber of his being screamed out and threatened to either rip to shreds or collapse. And the enormous pressure on his throat, in his head, and in his chest pushed him until he was slipping down the door. His hand gripped his sweater as he struggled for breath.

"Shit," he choked out. His fingers tingled, his stomach churned, and his vision started to blur. "Shit shit shit." He fell onto the soft beige rug and lifted himself to the toilet. He upended the seat just in time. His throat burned, and he sat at the bowl for several minutes, waiting for the last rolls of fear to leave him.

He sniffled and wiped the little build up of unshed tears from his eyes. "Shit," he mumbled as he leaned his head back against the cold wooden cabinet.

His phone buzzed above him on the white counter. His fingers scrambled up and clutched the device. It was Derek. His thumb hovered over the green button. He wanted someone to talk to, but his and Derek's relationship wasn't to that point…yet. But maybe Derek knew something about Scott? He swallowed, rejected the call, and put the phone down on the rug. He should just let his dad do his job.

Stiles let out a long shuddering breath. His best friend was probably in trouble and he was sitting on the bathroom floor thinking about how he couldn't do anything about it. Because he couldn't. What power did he have? His only power was the power of sarcasm. He clutched his hands over his eyes and pulled his knees up. The guilt that came sat heavy in his chest. He should've been with Scott this whole time. They were best friends. Maybe if he never pushed Scott away he would be where he is now, concocting some plan to get them out of whatever mess they'd gotten into. Or maybe he'd be there to pick Scott up and carry him to the vet's so at least he was safe.

But he gave up. He quit when it got rough because he couldn't stand the pressure—inside and out. And now Scott was in trouble and he was too cowardly to even pick up the phone.

His phone buzzed again on the floor. Text message. He clicked on it.

_Derek: Answer your phone._

Stiles sucked in a breath, grabbed his phone, and shakily got to his feet. He turned the water on in the sink and cleaned himself up, rubbing his reddened eyes and brushing his teeth. He padded back to his room and slipped under the blankets on his bed.

But the phone in his pocket was unrelenting. The bright screen glared in his dark room.

_Derek: I'm going to come over there._

_Stiles: Don't. I already know what's going on._

_Derek: No you don't._

At this point Derek called him. Sighing, he answered with a croaky, "what?"

"Stiles—are you okay?"

"I'm fine. What do you want?"

Derek was silent.

"I'm going to hang up—"

"I'm coming over there."

"No! Jesus. Just tell me what it is that you wanted to tell me."

"Fine…The blood samples came back last night and Deaton figured out what that blue substance was."

Stiles sat up. "And are you going to tell me what's up or am I going to have to guess?"

"The blood held a combination of Aconitum and something called Artemisia Absinthum."

Stiles was up at the laptop before he even realized. "Wait Aconitum? You mean _Wolfsbane?_ And—hang on…Art-em—how do you spell that? Okay. Ab-sin-th-um." He scrolled and clicked on, hopefully, the most promising website. He chewed his lip, reading the text carefully. "'Artemisia Absinthum, also known as Ambrosia, Absinthe, and Wormwood, is a fragrant herb often used to induce heavy sleep and vivid dreams.' I have no idea what this means."

"It's also what was in that blue substance—aside from one other unidentifiable chemical. Deaton isn't sure about that."

"It says that this Wormwood stuff is green. Or at least the essential oil in it, when extracted, is green. Maybe it was the Wolfsbane that turned it blue…or whatever that third thing is. And how could you not _smell_ it? But—" he waved his hand, "it doesn't matter. _What does this mean?"_

"I don't know." Derek huffed on the other end.

"What? Is there something else?"

"It's Isaac…and Scott."

Stiles felt the tight wad of guilt and fear clench in his gut. "Wh-what about them?"

"If we couldn't trace the scent of that blue substance…maybe we could trace the scent of the victim. Isaac is better at that so I sent him. But Scott went to make sure he was okay and—" he took a breath. "Scott lost him. He didn't know what happened. One minute they were tracking the scent up the river and the next he woke up by the side of the road—at daybreak."

"Scott's okay though?"

"He's a little…out of it I guess."

"Why didn't he call his mom, though? She hasn't seen him since yesterday—she called my _dad."_

He could practically hear the _'oh'_ on the other end. "I—"

"Is he there with you?"

"Yes, but—"

"Let me talk to him."

"He's not exactly himself."

"What do you mean?"

"Like I said…he's out of it."

Stiles was silent for a long minute. "What happened, Derek?"

"I'm not sure. Just… I'm coming over."

"No, I'm coming over there—you're at Deaton's?"

"No, don't come over here."

Stiles was already digging in his closet for a decent pair of jeans. "Too late, I'm heading out the door."

"Dammit, Stiles—_No."_

"—In my—pants," he struggled out, trying to balance the phone on his shoulder and stick his legs in his darkest jeans.

"…Was that an invitation?"

Stiles choked and tripped over his legs. The phone went flying and he landed with a hard thud on his carpet. _What the actual fuck?_ _What. The. Actual. Fuck?_ He pulled his pants up and scrambled to the phone.

Derek was trying to hide his cackles—the bastard. "You're too easy."

"This is supposed to be serious, asshole." Never mind the sexy image induced heart attack he was currently having.

"Right, right. You can't come over here because I'm already in front of your house."

Stiles flailed to his feet and raced down the stairs. He flung open the door and glared. Derek was standing looking altogether too hot for it to be _legal._ He still had the unhealthy look to his face and the droopy hair, but that didn't change the fact that he was positively on fire. The jackass. Stiles let his eyes sweep down for half a second. It wasn't fair that he looked so good in that black leather jacket, navy blue tee, and tight black jeans. When he got back up to his eyes, despite his earlier brush with laughter, there was definitely a sobered look lingering there saying something more than he could with his words: that whatever it was, was pretty bad and jokes were only a small comfort.

"That's actually a nice sweater. Big change from the reindeers."

"Shut up. Where's Scott?"

"You don't want to see him."

"Really? Because that's definitely why I would ask where he is."

"Stiles."

"Don't go all '_Stiles'_ on me like I'm being an idiot. Is he at the vet?"

Derek glanced away from those giant brown orbs. He couldn't take it. "Yes."

"Is he _okay? _No. Never mind. At this rate I'd have better luck trying to pin you down and pluck out your teeth. I'll just go over there myself."

He jingled the keys in his pocket. Derek grabbed him by the arm before he could get two steps.

"He's not okay. He's going to…end up like the others. But he's not there yet. I don't think you should see him."

Stiles blinked. Something occurred to him then. "What happened to Isaac?"

Derek swallowed. "As soon as I found Scott I took him to Deaton's and then I went to looks for Isaac. I've been looking all day. I…couldn't find him."

Stiles felt the pit in his stomach expand a little. His chest constricted, his fingers tingled, the bile rose in his throat. He was going to freak right in front of Derek and he was pretty sure Derek could tell what was happening—probably hear it too with the way his heart was pounding in his chest.

They were the only ones now.


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles swallowed down the rising fear in his throat. "Well fuck."

"Yeah." Derek slumped against the porch.

"What do we do?"

He shrugged.

Stiles chewed his lip. "Are you giving up?"

Derek frowned at the grey wooden planks below his feet. "I just don't know how to stop this."

"Okay well you can't just stand around here, Derek."

He glanced up, fixing Stiles with a pitiful look. "I thought you didn't expect me to have all the answers."

Stiles' jaw twitched. "I don't. But that doesn't mean you should just quit."

"Yeah? And what about you?" Derek pushed off from the porch and stalked close. "You were part of Scott's _pack._ That means you have a responsibility to him. And you just threw it away."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I've been a wolf my whole life. I know what it means to be pack more than you ever will. So you're having some silent pissing contest with Isaac—grow _up._ Isaac didn't steal your best friend. Scott didn't prefer _him _over _you._ You let your own goddamn insecurities get in the way. Isaac was just the excuse you needed."

Derek stood only inches away, glaring under his eyebrows with deep-set frown on his lips. Stiles didn't dare take his eyes off his. It was too damn on point for him to reveal anything to Derek or the dude would think he was _weak._

"Scott said himself that it was better this way."

Derek inched forward—his breath was visible right between them. "That's because he's trying to fucking _protect_ you. You're just being _selfish._"

Stiles pulled away just a fraction. "It doesn't mean I'm wrong." But everything he said was true. And yeah he might be able to admit it to himself, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt to have it shoved in his face.

Derek stepped back. "I'm not an idiot, Stiles. Obviously no one is asking for you to go out and get yourself killed. I'm saying you need to man-up, take responsibility, and be a _pack_ to Scott. And that means being brothers and protecting _each other._"

Stiles waved his arms. "I would _love_ to help out, Derek, it's too bad we _haven't got a fucking clue what we're up against."_

Derek heaved, lips tightening into an angry frown. But his phone buzzed in his pocket before he could make a response. "What?" he answered. _Rude. _Derek's eyes widened. "What—no I'm coming over there." He hung up. "It's Erica and Boyd." Derek was frightened. "They're shifting."

Stiles immediately glanced at the sky. It was still at least three days till the full moon. This couldn't be good. "I'm going with you." Derek shook his head but Stiles grabbed his leather jacket by the shoulder. "I'm going with you."

Derek searched Stiles' eyes for a few seconds before nodding. "Fine. But stay back."

They jumped in his Camaro and raced towards the vet's. When they got there, Stiles realized Derek or someone was sugar coating the situation because Erica and Boyd weren't just shifting—they were howling, rabid, and ready to claw the nearest person's face off. Deaton had subdued them into heavy duty silver cages with mountain ash around the perimeter, but it didn't look like it was going to hold with their violent thrashing. Eyes still glazed white, Erica and Boyd were stationed on opposite sides of the room, snarling and scratching blindly at the cages, hissing as it burned their skin.

"They don't seem to have any sense of their surroundings," Deaton informed as soon as Derek burst through the door, eyes flashing red with intent as he spotted his betas. "And they go in and out of this state every few minutes. I think they're undergoing periods of hallucination intertwined with catatonia. It's not like anything I've ever seen." Deaton watched as Erica and Boyd crashed in the cages. "I don't know if those will hold. Or what they'll do if they get out."

Derek glanced between the two cages. He went to Erica first, squatting down in front of her cage just beyond the mountain ash line. Erica howled in his face, fingers scratching against the metal.

"Erica," he said.

She hissed, waving her hair around and turning in the cage. She had no idea where he was—or maybe even where she was.

"Erica," he repeated this time lower and more demanding. A low growl began in his throat, his eyes shone crimson, and he let his fangs extend just enough to show sharp and menacing, but he kept back most of the transformation.

Erica stiffened, fingers almost touching the grating. Her breaths came heavy and filled with untapped rage. The room grew quiet and Derek glanced behind him. Boyd had gone similarly still with breaths just as heavy. Stiles and Derek glanced between the two wolves. Their heavy breaths were perfectly in sync.

"That is the creepiest thing I've ever seen," Stiles half-whispered. "They're like those vampires from that Will Smith movie. At least I think it was that movie. That's the one where he's like the last person on earth because some cure for cancer turned everyone into vampires, right? And like the dog dies and it's super sad and—"

"Stiles," Derek snapped. He was already back to normal, sharp teeth gone, red eyes vanished. He was just giving his usual _shut up_ look.

Deaton sighed behind Stiles. "I'm sorry, Derek, but you didn't fix anything. In about ten minutes they'll be doing that all over again."

"How did you even trap them in there?" Stiles asked.

Deaton just gave him a _look_ and then turned back to Derek. "I think your best bet would be to find the cause of this phenomenon and destroy it."

"How do we even know 'it' is and 'it'?" Stiles asked.

"Something killed those two who floated down the river," Derek replied.

"Right." Stiles bit his lip. His eyes lit up a second later and he nearly crashed into the wall turning around. "Where's Scott?!"

Dr. Deaton took a breath and glanced at the silver door that led to the back room with the rest of the animal cages. "He's not well."

"Oh well then that makes everything better. Come on Derek, let's go back to my place and watch _Iron Man 2_, because gosh Scott is just having a bad case of the _flu._ _Where's Scott—_no, never mind. He's back here, isn't he?" Stiles walked over palmed the handle to the back room.

Derek was there in a second, hand on his shoulder, eyes hesitant. "_Stiles."_

"_Stiles,"_ he mimicked. "It's not working, buddy. It doesn't matter how bad you think it is, I'm going to see Scott."

"I was just going to ask if you were sure." There was a mixture of worry and pity in his eyes. And God Stiles would have resented it if it didn't make his stomach do a little flip-flop.

"Yeah I'm sure."

Derek opened the door for him. Stiles under his arm, scrambled along the wall for a second for the light switch, and blinked as the beams of light flickered into life.

The walls of the room were lined with metal cages—all empty. A door was half hidden on the far end of the right wall that presumably led to some storage room or a bathroom, Stiles wasn't sure. In the center of this room was a long metal table, shiny and sterile like everything else. Scott was slumped from the wooden stool over a good portion of this table. His brown eyes blinked at the flickering light.

"Scott." Stiles rushed over and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

Scott mumbled something unintelligible into the arm of his grey sweater.

"Hey, dude, no, you gotta get up. C'mon."

Scott slowly tried to sit up, a little dribble of drool on his chin and a sloppy expression on his face. If Stiles didn't know better he's say Scott was drunk off his ass. "Stiles?" he bubbled—_bubbled._

"Shit, man." Stiles grabbed Scott's face and tried to shake him into something resembling cognitive. He put a thumb over his left eyebrow. Scott's eyes were filming over. "Is this like what happened with Erica and Boyd?" he asked Derek who was standing in the doorway.

"No. They weren't like this."

"Stiles you have nice skin," Scott said with a dopey smile and an unsteady finger poking his arm.

"Jesus it's like he's _wasted_ or half-asleep or, well, mostly asleep. I don't even know."

Suddenly, Scott's nails started to grow, his fangs popped from under his lip, and his ears elongated. Stiles jumped back.

"Is he _shifting?"_

Derek pulled Stiles back. "He's been doing that on-and-off. Come on, you've seen enough."

Scott growled low in his throat, yellow eyes glinting under his hooded gaze. He raked his claws against the metal as he unsteadily pulled away from the table. Derek half-dragged Stiles out and slammed the door shut behind him. A howl came after, and Stiles realized he was shaking. He made a fist and ground his teeth. He wasn't going to freak out—he _was not_ going to freak out. His best friend was losing it.

"Shit," Stiles mumbled, leaning against the cold wall. "How did this even happen?"

"That's what we have to figure out," Deaton said. "I don't know how far Erica or Boyd's condition will progress. And I can't tell you if or when Jackson will start to exhibit the same symptoms as those two. But it think it's obvious to say that if we don't figure this out sooner than later, we're going to have four very unmanageable problems on our hands. Derek, do you still have the bestiary?"

Derek shook his head. "Yes and no. I'd have to talk to my uncle—who likes to play games."

"Well do what you have to," Deaton instructed. "I think you should also consider speaking with the Argents. We may need their help to defeat this thing."

"Allison and her father are out of the hunting business," Stiles said. "They're not going to want to help."

Dr. Deaton eyed Stiles. "Still, you may be surprised." He glanced back at Derek. "And you need to continue your search for Isaac. I would also advise you not to go alone." There may or may not have been a pointed nod in Stiles' direction. A pair of low growls began behind them. Derek half-turned but Deaton stopped him. "Don't worry about them. I'll make sure they don't get out. Just go."

Still, Stiles had to pull Derek out of there. "Since you already searched the woods today," Stiles said as he tugged Derek back to his car, "I'm thinking we're going to have to take a different approach to this."

"And what's that?" he asked quietly. He face was concentrated in a pitiful frown aimed at the ground.

Stiles poked Derek's shoulder. "Dude, seriously. Quit with the frowny-face. We're gonna figure this out and we're kill whatever we have kill to get Scott and the others back to normal-ish." Stiles nodded, tongue between his lips. Derek just rolled his eyes. "Now, I've been thinking… Plenty of people in this town take walks in the forest—hell, there's an entire neighborhood along the main road with large foresty estates all gated and shit. I mean, _we_ were in the forest—_you_ were there this morning. So what's so special about those guys that were killed?"

Derek's brows constricted. "What if it's not random?"

Stiles grinned. "Exactly."

"You want to break in to the police station and get those files, don't you?"

"Now you're getting it."

"And that is what scares me."


	13. Chapter 13

An odd thing happened at the police station. Although odd might have been putting it mildly. There wasn't a police vehicle in sight. There were the usual impounded cars in the in the back lot, but no police cars.

Derek slowed down as he saw the empty parking lot. He turned in, picked a space, and killed his engine. "Uhm, I don't know I might be blind, but it doesn't seem like there's anyone here."

Stiles barely heard him; he was twisting around in his seat, double and triple checking that there wasn't some sign of life. "…Okay. This…is not weird. Not weird at all." Stiles chewed his lip and then flung the car door open.

"_Stiles!"_ But he was already out and jogging to the station doors. Derek grumbled something probably profane and followed. "Stiles! Don't go in—dammit. _Never listens."_ Derek rushed after him and skidded to a stop as soon as he was through the door—nearly crashing into Stiles.

The blinds were shut on the walls. The reception was empty. Behind the glass, where all the desks rested with papers and files stacked to the ceiling, not a soul stirred in the main room. Stiles' hand reached back and gripped Derek by the arm. It was a steadying gesture, but not for him—for _Derek._ He turned and put a finger to his lips. _Don't move,_ he mouthed to Derek. Since when did Stiles take lead on these things? Since when did _Stiles_ try to protect _Derek_—of all people?

Stiles snuck around the counter and through the door that led to the main room. Derek would have gone after him, but his senses told him there really wasn't anyone there. He didn't know why Stiles was insistent on being silent. With a frown, he glanced to the right where a stretched out and turned left. The lights were out but he could clearly see the dim, glowing green EXIT sign above the door on the end. There was also a little flickering red light on the wall next to it, and Derek, nostrils flaring, could smell the faint musky scent of a draft.

Stiles came out just before Derek was about to go and check out the door. He had a file in his hand and worried look on his face. He grabbed Derek by the arm and tried to tug him back out the station.

"What?" he whispered when Derek didn't move.

Derek glanced at him. "Why are we whispering? There's no one here."

"I know that, dumbass—but there's literally a camera on every goddamn wall—with _mics. _Why do you think I said not to move? You're still a person of interest—and now they wanna nail you for those murders outside your property. You can't be seen walking in there._"_

_Oh._

"But I asked you a question."

Derek blinked and nodded to the door at the end of the hallway. "I think the door is open."

Stiles followed his gaze and narrowed his eyes. With a tight frown, he tugged on Derek's arm again. This time he followed. When they were safe outside, Stiles started walking around the building—not back to the car, but to the other side where the entrance to the impound lot was behind the wall of the station. Sure enough, even in the dim lamplight above the fence, the pair could see that the door was open just slightly.

The metal fence created a large box around the side of the building and about three-fourths of the way down was the gate and a small station for a residing officer. Except here there wasn't an officer and the gate, which rolled to open, had a giant hole in the center.

Stiles gaped at the sight, a wiped a hand over his face in frustration. "Shit. Stay here." He walked across the pavement and stopped at the little outpost. Glancing inside the window, he saw that everything inside was fried—the desk, the control panel, the lock boxes, everything—and the door had been blasted open. "Shit." Narrowing his eyes he saw something in addition to the blackened surfaces—a light sheen of some sort of blue filmy substance. _"Shit."_ He looked at the gate. Same deal.

Stiles jogged back to Derek who gave him a questioning look. Stiles shook his head. "It looks like a chemistry experiment gone horribly wrong. And that blue stuff? Yep, all over the black bits. Whatever killed those dudes was definitely here."

"Fuck," Derek said. Stiles swallowed and clenched his fists at his sides. He bobbed his head in a nod, swallowing hard. But Derek could plainly see the shaking that was going on underneath his sweater. He could see the tremble in his lips, the way he kept swallowing like his mouth was going dry, the panic rising in his eyes. "What is it?" he asked. The kid annoyed the hell out of him at times, but he also had managed to crawl under his skin over the past couple weeks enough that Derek instantly felt concern and the need to protect.

Stiles shook his head and moved to fist his sweater around his shoulders. He took a breath that was meant to seem normal but was more shaky and panicked than anything else. Derek reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Hey, what's happening?"

"It's—it—fuck man, I can't do this in front of you." Stiles sat on the curb, clasping his hands over his head. He muttered a string of profanities under his breath and labored to breath normally.

Derek wasn't sure what to do. He awkwardly knelt down in front of Stiles and tried to peek at his face, but Stiles hid himself well. "Ar—are you having…like a panic attack?" He reached out a hand but wasn't quite sure where to put it so it sort of just hovered over Stiles' hand. "Stiles?"

Stiles shook his head. "Dammit," he mumbled. "Derek, don't—" Derek put his hand over Stiles'. Stiles glanced up, fear in his eyes. "I'm okay."

"You don't look okay."

He blinked. "It's just…" He took a steadying gulp of air. "Where's my dad?"

_Oh._ "Shit," Derek breathed. He watched Stiles' scared face for a few moments, trying to figure out what exactly was going though his mind. There should have been at least _someone_ in the police station—but there wasn't. He found the file in his father's office—a file that his father went out of his way to get the other day so it was important. Why would he just leave it behind? And then the outpost was blasted to bits? It wasn't looking good at all. "I'm sure your father is fine," he finally said.

Stiles took another gulping breath. "You were right earlier," he said.

"What?"

Stiles looked Derek in the eye. "You were right. I was being selfish. I _am_ selfish. The thing is, I can't fucking _lose_ anyone I care about. I can't do it. It would…crush me. I would rather let anyone else die to not lose someone I care about. If the boat is sinking, I'll fucking grab the last life raft, push everyone I love on to it, and leave everyone else to drown. I am _that_ selfish. I would even sacrifice myself so I don't have to feel the pain of their loss. Do you understand?"

Derek's eyes were wide. He nodded, moving his hand to Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles went on. "Except I'm not a hero, Derek. I'm not strong or powerful in any way. I figured that out the hard way. And…seeing my friends putting themselves in danger only makes that point worse because then I _know_ I can't do anything to save them. So I would rather try to not care about them—to leave them—than to sit around and worry and feel terrified that something horrible is going to happen to them because I _can't fucking lose them._" He shook his head, eyes to the ground. "It's a backwards twisted logic because I still care—there's no getting around that." He let out a small, mirthless laugh. "I still give a damn about Scott." He touched the file on the ground next to him. "I can't lose my dad."

Derek nodded and sat down on the curb next to him. "If…it makes you feel any better, you were right about me too." He made eye contact with Stiles. "I did a lot of shitty things. I told myself, '_you're doing the right thing, Derek. These kids they need your help. You were just like them, and you don't want them to turn out the same—you want them to have a better life._' Except it was just a really, really good excuse to put them in danger. I needed the power, Stiles. I was so…angry. I just needed people to help me fight my war. I needed people that were like me. I didn't want to run or be alone anymore.

"But after Gerard…I realized power isn't everything." Derek shook his head and looked to the ground. "And I was easily beaten and overpowered because I failed as an alpha to Erica and Boyd and even Isaac." There was a half-smile on his face as he looked back up at Stiles. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing half the time, but if there's one thing I do know—now at least—it's what pack means. Scott's my brother. Isaac and Boyd are my brothers. Erica is my sister. I have to trust them and protect them. I have to let them do the same. And as an alpha I have to lead them the right way—without anger or hatred. If they die, I don't get a second chance to do that." Derek put his hand on Stiles' shoulder. "I can't lose them either."

Stiles barely realized, but he had relaxed significantly. The panic was no longer in his throat. He breathed normally. With a heavy sigh and a _God-What-The-Hell-Is-My-Life _smile, he leaned back on the curb. "I guess we're both pretty selfish then."

Derek shrugged. "Well…I'm less selfish than you, for sure."

Stiles choked out a laugh. "Dammit. You're not supposed to make me laugh—we're in a fucked up situation."

"You're dad is probably fine," Derek said, hazel eyes lingering on Stiles' face. "We're gonna figure out what's happening, kill it, and then get everyone back to normal." He nodded, eyebrows up and a musing smile on his lips.

Stiles nodded. "Thanks…"

Derek's eyes wandered around Stiles' face. "You care a lot. It might border on _obsessive_ and a little bit creepy—and even selfish—but you care. And so do I. Which is why we can't give up."

Stiles sighed. "There's not much I can do."

Derek rolled his eyes. "You might not be able to bench press a truck, Stiles, but that doesn't mean you can't do anything. Who's the one that pointed out these murders could be connected?"

Stiles smiled down at his hands, glancing over at the file on his right. "Well…"

"Yeah that's right. Don't be such an idiot." Derek nudged him with his shoulder.

That moment, Stiles felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Confused, he pulled it out. It was his father. "Dad!" he shouted. "Where are you?!"

_"Yeah I don't think I heard you."_

"Sorry, sorry. Just—where are you?"

_"Police business, Stiles."_

Stiles glanced at Derek and then the station behind him. "Er, I just…I came by the station to…ask you something and you weren't here. I thought you said you were going to be here late?"

_"Stiles you do realize that police business sometimes means I have to leave the police station, right? I've been driving around the county all day and now it's looking like the rest of the night, too."_

"Oh. Okay."

_"Look, I called because I guess I've been so busy I forgot about Christmas—are you going to want to get a tree this year?"_

Everything in Stiles heaved a sigh of relief. His father was okay. He was even okay enough to think about Christmas, which was still two weeks away. He was even okay enough to worry that the lack of Christmas spirit in their home was somehow detrimental to Stiles. But then Stiles felt a little wound up because how could he even think about Christmas when literally everyone he knew was probably going to die? His father didn't know that though so…

"Yeah, yeah, I… I'll get one. Don't worry about it."

_"Oh, good. Now, wait, you wanted to ask me something?"_

Stiles glanced at the file. "Oh yeah, it's no big deal. It was nothing."

_"You drove all the way to the station."_

Stiles grimaced and glanced behind him at the blasted gate. Next to him, Derek shook his head frantically. Stiles just gave him the _are-you-fucking-dumb_ look. "About that—"

Derek snatched the phone away from him and hung up on his father.

"What the _hell?!"_

"You can't tell him about this, Stiles!"

"Are you fucking _dumb?!_ He _works here_. He's going to see it anyway!"

Derek stood up. "We have to get rid of the evidence."

Stiles pushed off the ground and just raised a brow at him. "Oh yeah let's just get rid of the evidence—yeah that makes total sense. _Except the only way to do that would be to burn the whole goddamn place down._"

Stiles snatched his phone back. "You're a fucking idiot." He pressed a button and saw a new message. _Dad: Disconnected? Have to go. We'll talk later. –Dad_

"Does that look normal to you? This can't be explained by some animal attack! This is straight out of the _X-Files."_

Stiles gritted his teeth. He had no idea why he harbored a crush for this guy because he was clearly just a moron with a pretty face. "And what are we going to do about all the missing people? And the cameras that have seen our faces? And the camera that is _over there above the gate—_shit."

"Well we have to—"

Stiles put a finger to Derek's lips. "Shut up."

"What?" Derek mumbled.

Stiles let a grin stretch on his face. "Cameras."


	14. Chapter 14

The camera room was a small space beyond the sheriff's office that was mostly inhabited by tall file cabinets. The space that was left amidst the multitude of paper and manila folders was occupied by three computer monitors, several pieces of complicated looking equipment, a tangled web of cords, and a single empty roll-y chair. Derek, who insisted that he accompany Stiles despite being seen in the hallways by aforementioned cameras, squeezed in behind Stiles cramping himself in the small space until he was practically glued against Stiles' back.

"Dude," Stiles said, "dude move over."

"I can't."

"You so can—open the door it's going to get hot in here. Jesus, I don't do well in small spaces." Stiles took a breath and awkwardly shimmied into the chair. "Ugh, and can you not hover like that." He scratched the back of his neck. It just didn't help his growing _fancy_ for Derek that he was all pressed up close and breathing the same air and shit. It just didn't help at all.

"Just calm down." Derek stretched over and pressed the space bar. The screens fired up and the first two revealed several different angles of the police station while the third was the recording controls. One of the partitioned areas was blacked out—presumably the camera that got fried from inside the guard post. They weren't going to see anything on that one. Derek stepped closer and bent down so his face was just next to Stiles'. "Click there, I think that will go to the playback."

Stiles found the playback and hit rewind. He saw him and Derek walking down the hall and then saw himself from the first time they were in the station, but after that everything was still. The number on the top reversed but nothing on the screen changed. The police station remained empty as the minutes played back. An hour passed and still nothing. Stiles chewed his lip, waiting for whatever it was to enter the screen. The thing had to pass by the front of the station to get to the side door and out to the back where the impound lot guard post rested. The minutes ticked back in triple speed and both Stiles and Derek waited with held breaths for the results. It was after about two hours of feed that something weird happened. The video glitched; color vibrated in lines all over the feed and obscured all the black and white footage.

"The hell?" Stiles asked. The footage shifted and after several minutes of this the screen suddenly came back into view only for them to see a station full of officers.

"Wait, play it from there," Derek said.

Stiles complied. The video paused and then started moving in real time.

"The audio," Derek said, moving his hand over Stiles' and clicking the audio button for him. He kept his hand there as the sound crunched out of the low speakers on the monitors.

Four officers sat in the main office; from this angle they could see the receptionist and part of the front doors.

_"…Still no answer with any of the neighbors?"_ one of the four called.

_"Negative! But the Sherriff said he was going to see the landlady. Also said no one has been home in any of the places he's been to."_

_"You think everyone is out Christmas shopping?" _

_"I don't know. I've been to the mall, it's pretty empty."_

_"That's unusual."_

_"You think people are just going out of town?"_

At that point all heads turned toward the front and then the video glitched.

"Come on," Stiles murmured, moving his hand from under Derek's and playing it back again. It was the same deal.

Derek leaned further down, jaw just barely above Stiles' shoulder. "Just wait," he said, breath brushing against his cheek.

Stiles squashed the urge to shiver and instead just moved away the tiniest increment. Derek was acting weird all of the sudden. And it was _weird_. And uncomfortable. And unfortunately the tiniest bit arousing. Because now his mind was wondering what it'd feel like to have Derek's stubble rub against his skin. Dammit._ Focus, Stiles. Focus._ He rewound again. Same deal.

Derek's eyes narrowed as his other arm came to rest on the chair, fingers lightly grazing Stiles' shoulder. "Wait…turn up the volume."

Stiles did. He rewound again, just before the glitch. Color zapped on the screen and something creaked through the speakers—it was like a harsh whisper, or a loud gust of crackly wind. Neither Derek nor Stiles knew quite what it was, but it almost seemed like _words._ Stiles rewound and upped the volume again.

"I just…" he breathed.

Derek leaned forward, a look of deep focus on his face. The sounds started again.

"Ssss…..pp," Stiles whispered. "Seep? What?"

"Play it again."

He played it again.

Derek's eyes went far way as he concentrated. "Seep…seep—no, _sleep._ Sleep. It's saying 'sleep.'"

"What?" Stiles was incredulous.

Derek shook his head. "It's just saying 'sleep' over and over."

They watched the glitchy screen, hearing the scratchy murmur of _sleep_ over and over as color vibrated.

"Where does it end?"

Stiles forwarded through the glitchy feed until it cleared up, leaving an empty station in its wake. He pressed play just in time to hear a dulled crash from the speaker.

"Whoa, what was that?"

Stiles shook his head and took it a minute or so back. The station was clear, all was silent, and then after a second—_boom_. A clear explosion. "It must have been the guard post. Hang on." He switched cameras until he found the one for the impound lot—a camera just above the open door inside the gates that had a clear view of the post. He took it back until he saw the fuzzy screen just like from inside the station.

"Dammit," Derek muttered. "We're not going to get a clear look at it—no wait stop there."

It was fast, but there was a clear moment on the recording. Stiles took it back. The guard was there and then the screen started fuzzing out. It was a few minutes and then the screen cleared up. The guard was slowly walking away—he was just walking off the screen. But the post was empty. Stiles and Derek waited a few agonizing moments before a large spark erupted from inside the post and then the screen glitched out—only to come back on a minute later to show a blown up outpost and a busted gate.

"What the hell?"

Derek was agape. "There was nothing there."

"Yes—I saw."

The two stayed in frozen positions in front of the screen, watching _nothing_ happen. Both too shocked by _nothing_ they didn't even rewind to double or triple check. It was clear—there was nothing there.

"I don't—"

"Me neither." Derek frowned.

Stiles blinked. "Well there's clearly _something_ because whatever it was, it had to walk through _doors_—it couldn't just like _apparate_ into places. Despite being obviously invisible."

"Obviously…apparate?"

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek—who was weirdly close—and gave him a raised brow. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Derek held back a smile. "Erm."

"I swear to God, if you haven't—"

Derek raised a hand. "Okay, jeez, I'm just kidding. I've read all the books—and seen almost all the movies. No need to flay me."

"Good. What house?"

Derek raised a brow. "I don't know."

"Oh please, that website is up and running, literally _everyone_ made an account to test what house they were in—officially. Don't fucking tell me you didn't steal your crazy-ass uncle's laptop for five minutes to find out."

Derek colored a bit. "I—"

"You've been living under a _rock._ When we find out what that thing is and kill it—the first thing we're going to do is find out what house you're in. Period."

Derek's face was bright red. "Uhm, I don't—"

"End of discussion. Now back up so I can get out."

"It's—"

Stiles waved his hands. Derek shuffled back, face still coloring and wide eyes staring at the floor. Stiles gave Derek his most judgmental look as he shuffled past him back into the hall. There was a mumbled sound behind him, so he turned around. "What?"

Derek looked everywhere but at Stiles. "I—did."

His eyebrows shot up into his hair. "What?"

Derek took a breath. "It's—you still want to—um—hang out and…stuff?" He looked like he was in so much pain from that admission.

Stiles let a smile creep on his face. "Uh, duh. We're friends, right? Besides, you have to be versed in popular culture—who else is going to help you?"

The tension released in Derek's shoulders. "I…thanks—I think?"

The smile turned into a full-on grin. Derek was so not good at this friendship thing. He couldn't even look him in the _eye._ And it looked like every instinct in him was fighting against even admitting he wanted to hang out with him. It was hilarious.

"But what was that earlier? You did what?"

Now Derek just looked embarrassed. "I took the goddamn test okay."

Stiles almost flung himself onto the nearest surface in a fit of laughter, but he held back. Not without consequence though, his smile was beginning to hurt and his eyes were blown wide. "What were the results?"

Derek gritted his teeth and gave him an epic eye roll that turned out to be more like a façade for the deep red embarrassment creeping on his face. "I got—Hufflepuff—don't fucking _laugh."_

Stiles breathed out very slowly, smile twitching on his face and fists gripping the hem of his sweater. _Gold._ His body shook in painfully small gasps as he tried to keep his laughter in check. He took several more steadying breaths as Derek's face turned increasingly more annoyed.

"Whooo, kayyy," he breathed, "Of course. Yes, Huf—flepuff is an _awesome_ house. Pure awesome. Yeah."

Derek glared. "And what did you get?"

"Slytherin."

"Oh fuck you."

Stiles cackled. But then sobered up quickly. "Holy shit the thing is _invisible!"_

"You have the attention span of a rat."

"Well duh, Attention-Deficit here. But seriously, _holy shit. _How are we supposed to find it?"

"Take away its invisibility cloak—does it _look_ like I've got a fucking clue?" Derek grabbed Stiles' wrist and tugged him back through the station. "Whatever it is, it's supernatural so there's got to be _something_ in my uncle's laptop about an invisible creature that turns people into raisins, rips out their eyeballs, and leaves a trail of blue shit."

Stiles raised his brows. "Eloquent as always, Derek. And didn't you say that your crazy uncle likes to 'play games'? What does that even mean?"

Derek frowned. "It means he's going to want something in return."

Stiles grimaced. "Ew."

"If you're thinking what I think you're thinking—just no. No. Not like that."

They made out the door and Derek continued to steer him back to his Camaro. "How do you know what I'm thinking?" Stiles poked his arm. Derek twitched. "You can read my mind now?"

"Just get in the car."

Stiles stuck out his tongue, walked around the front of the car, and opened the passenger door with as much sass as he could muster. Derek just rolled his eyes. "No but seriously, it better not be anything gross."

Derek slipped in next to Stiles. "I have no idea what he's going to want."

"Or kinky."

"What?"

"It better not be anything gross or kinky."

Derek gave him a weird look. "I don't want to know what goes on in your head."

"No, you really don't."

Derek shook his head and started the engine.

"It's not anything kinky is it?"

"Stiles."

"Because—"

"_Stiles."_

Stiles put his hands up. "You're not even giving me a hint here."

"I just said I have no idea what he's going to want."

"You've got to have _some_ idea."

Derek groaned as he reversed the car out of the police station.

Stiles tapped his fingers on the door. They sped down the long road, green lights all the way. "Where is crazy old uncle Pete anyway? I haven't seen him in _forever."_

"He's…still around."

Stiles fixed him with a glare. "Why do you have to be so cryptic? Why can't you just say the answer? Where is your uncle?"

Derek let out a breath. "I…don't know."

"Brilliant. Where the fuck are we even going then?"

"Back to my house. He likes to hang out there. But he disappears from time to time. Right now is one of his disappearing times."

Stiles nodded with a small smile. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it? And your little frowny face is not going to work on me. You think it's intimidating, but I'm beyond intimidation with you. Remember? You're just a big ball of yarn."

"You're…" Derek shook his head as he searched for the right word. "Insufferable." There was a hinting twitch of his lips though and his eyes darted onto Stiles' smug face with amusement. And there was a definite color to his cheeks that gave Stiles the nerve to lean close, wink, and say, "But you like it." And that was the moment that Stiles had to admit that maybe his little crush was a little stronger than he thought it was—because it clearly just took over his inhibitions and started running motor controls in his brain to _blatantly flirt with Derek Motherfucking Hale._ And worst of all the part in his brain screaming in panic was starting to be very, very small part. He wanted Derek. More than he was afraid of him. _God fucking dammit._ But it didn't prepare him for the next second.

Derek barked a laugh. "Apparen—no, no I don't."

Stiles' eyebrows shot up. "_Excuse me?_ Did someone say '_Apparently'?_ Oh Derek, you don't have to hide your love. Being friends with a Stilinski means the hugs are free and they are _awesome._"

Derek snorted, eyes quickly scanning Stiles. "No thanks."

"Yeah okay, but the offer is a standing one."

Stiles settled back into his seat with a smug smile. _Well that escalated quickly,_ a part in his mind chimed. _It didn't escalate enough,_ another part argued. Stiles mentally told both sides to shut up. Derek didn't like him like that—he had to keep that in mind. He might have a very quickly escalating crush on the dude, but he couldn't let that get the better of his morals. He might like openly flirting with Derek, but he had to remember not to take things too far—or he might lose their budding friendship. Right. Friendship. It was probably the most important thing at the moment. Derek, despite all broodiness, was actually an okay guy to hang around with. And as it stood, Stiles didn't have many friends, so he couldn't afford to lose another. His smug smile settled back as he mentally chastised himself. Besides, he'd done this out-of-the-league crushing before and being forward never got him anywhere—not even to friendship. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

_Keep it cool, Stiles. Keep it cool._

Derek watched out of the corner of his eyes as several emotions crossed Stiles' face. He wasn't going to pretend like he knew what the hell was going on in that pretty little head. That would be a mistake. Because more than likely it would probably disturb him. But Derek had a part in him, a dark part probably, that wished to know what Stiles was thinking most of the time. Especially when Stiles was hanging around him. Okay, mostly he wanted to know what Stiles thought of him. One moment he'd be smiling and laughing and the next he'd be antagonistic as hell. Did he hate him? Did he like him? He offered hugs and to watch movies with him—out of pity? Out of friendship? Derek had a hard time believing that Stiles could _like_ him—in any capacity. Derek was an asshole. What in the world was making Stiles continually agree to be around him? These questions were maddening to say the least. And as he watched the emotions cross Stiles' features, he became increasingly more paranoid that, as crazy and psychotic as it sounded, Stiles was going to drop him the second he and Scott reunited.

And sure, Stiles was rather insufferable—constantly challenging, constantly annoying, constantly pointing out the worst in him—but Derek had to admit that he found it humbling, and little bit comforting, to have someone constantly call him out on his shit. He didn't have to pretend to be anyone because it seemed like Stiles just _accepted _him. He didn't know if he _liked _him, but he knew that he _accepted_ him. And Derek wasn't sure if he was ready to let that go.


	15. Chapter 15

The Hale house, under the moonlight, was just as empty, cold, and depressing as it was the other night. Derek barely parked in front before he let out a frustrated breath and told Stiles that his uncle was not there. But he did go inside to search all the crevices and under the stairs for the laptop—which was nowhere to be found. Stiles followed him inside purely out of curiosity. And, nope, he honestly couldn't figure out what he expected because it was not any better on the inside.

"Have you ever thought," Stiles asked as they were back on the road, presumably to the next likely Crazy Uncle Peter Hideout, "that you should, like, fix that place up?"

"What place?"

"_Your house."_

"Uh nooo."

"Why not?"

"Because….of reasons? I don't know."

Stiles chewed his lip and glanced out the window. The streets looked oddly familiar. "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you home."

Stiles raised his brows. "Dude, it's barely _ten_. We still have to find your uncle. Seriously? Crisis at hand!"

Derek shook his head. "You need to get some sleep."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Did you not hear me? There is a legit crisis going on, Derek. Sleep is for the weak."

"Look, I'm going to go look for my uncle. Half the places I'm going to go are not places you should be."

"Oh so you want me just sit at home and wait for you?"

Derek gave him an exasperated look. "No. I want you to get some rest because tomorrow morning I'm waking you up—_early—_to go look for Isaac again in the woods." He gave a small smirk at Stiles frown, "And don't you think your dad would be upset if you aren't home?"

Stiles shook his head. "You had to pull the dad card."

They pulled up outside Stiles' house. Derek raised his brows and nudged his arm. "I'm serious—get some rest. You look like you need it."

Stiles grumbled but got out of the car. Before he shut the door, though, he leaned back in and fixed Derek with a determined stare. "You better find your uncle. I don't want my precious beauty sleep to go to waste. And I'm not the one that needs rest." He blinked and looked Derek up and down—and yeah _damn_ he still looked delectable but he was also rather sickly around the eyes. Derek just rolled his eyes. Stiles let a small smile on his face. His eye rolling was actually kind of adorable.

Stiles shut the door. "I mean it!" he shouted as Derek drove off.

When he turned around he saw his dad's cruiser in the driveway. He scanned the front of the house. The lights were on and his dad may or may not have been waiting in the open doorway. Rubbing his arms, he trudged across the frosty grass.

"Hey dad."

His dad yawned and waved him inside. "So that Hale kid."

Stiles nodding, shutting the door for his father. "You okay?"

His dad shrugged. "Just really tired."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. His father sluggishly crashed back onto the couch. "Did you, um, go by the station today?" Stiles still had the file under his arm so he moved it behind his back.

His father shook his head, giving another long yawn. "I've been driving around the whole city," he muttered, eyes blinking slowly, "I'm pretty sure those two murders are connected…but nobody will talk."

Stiles was thrown. His father was so tired he was easily giving up information—no alcohol on Stiles' part required. But the problem was that he wasn't sure if he should feel bad for taking advantage of his father in this state. But it wasn't like he _caused_ this and he needed the information….

Stiles mentally punched himself and then sat on the arm rest of the couch next to his father. "What makes you think they're connected?"

The sheriff shrugged. "They went to the same university."

Stiles' eyebrows shot up. "Wha—"

"Not at the same time, though. The first victim graduated about twenty years ago. But no one on campus seemed to know the second victim…and I couldn't find anyone to talk to me about the first one. And now I'm just really, really tired." His dad tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

"Right, right, Dad…you rest." Stiles pulled a blanket from the other couch and put it over his father.

As soon as his breathing moved into slow even breaths, Stiles slipped upstairs and fired up his Macbook. He flipped open the file on his desk and began scanning the contents. The first victim was Mr. Ben Williams, a man in his mid-forties with dark hair, wiry glasses, and skinny body. He was a professor of ancient civilization mythology at UCLA. Stiles blinked at that. It could _not_ have coincidence. But UCLA was not the university that he graduated from… The man had only been teaching there for the last five years, and his last address was in—unsurprisingly—Beacon Hills. Stiles chewed his lip and tapped his foot. The guy moves away from Beacon Hills to teach at UCLA and then five years later he and some college kid end up dead in the forest.

Who was this kid? Stiles opened up the website for the university, clicked on a few links, and then found himself on the news page. Top story was of a kid—dark-haired, freckled, and gangly—who had recently died. Memorial service was to be announced. His name was Christopher Bailey.

Stiles glanced at the photo inside the file. "No…" He chewed his lip and opened up Facebook. Sure enough, this kid had a page. From what he could see, amidst the sea of condolence messages, Christopher had a sister with a different last name—Marcus. The woman he listed as his mother was Leila Marcus, married to a gingery man named Robert. Christopher looked nothing like Robert. So…step father. More than likely. And the sister was probably a half-sister. Stiles glanced at the file again. "No…that's too much of a coincidence."

Stiles pulled away from his chair and quickly hopped down the steps, jumping to where his father rested on the couch. He gently shook his shoulder and waiting for the eyes to flutter. "Hey, hey Dad."

"Mmrrphwat?"

"Did that kid have a father?"

His father took a shuddery breath and shook his head. "Saw his mother…said it was a drunken fling twenty years ago in college. Couldn't remember afterward."

Stiles sat on his heels for a second taking it in. So it might have been more than just the same university…they could be father and son. Stiles shuddered. This was too weird—like, really, really weird. But if they really were father and son, it would be a hell of a lot better explanation than just two people who happened to go to the same university.

Stiles pursed his lips. All the new information swirled in his mind. It was beginning to look likely that this professor had something to do with the mysterious invisible creature in the woods—and it's what got him killed. He did teach mythology at UCLA and this creature was obviously mythological. If that were true, then his son probably went looking for him—or whatever was in the woods—only to be led to his own death. But then why was this creature breaking into the police station? And what was it doing to his best friend?

Stiles stood back up and jumped back upstairs to continue his research. With the file open at his side, he read everything he could find on both the professor and his son well into the night. It was around three a.m. when Stiles felt the weariness on his lids and the weighty ton of mythological knowledge heavy on his brain. There were more creatures and legends from North American indigenous cultures than he ever thought possible. And the analysis and arguments of how they connected with other cultures in the world numbed his mind. With a heavy sigh, Stiles slid from his chair and onto his bed. Derek better have found his uncle. Because he pretty much found _nothing_.

Stiles lied back, rubbing his stinging eyes. There wasn't a single legend that fit all of the criteria for what they had on their hands. The closest was the _sandman._ At least, the scary version of the sandman who took children's eyes in the middle of night. And then there were the typical vampire legends—creatures that drained humans until they were wrinkly, mummified husks. Not just dead—drained. Just like the victims. But neither were _invisible_ so. Stiles groaned a little, tugged the blankets over him and hoped that a couple hours of rest would be enough.

It seemed like seconds later when a fist knocked on his window. His eyes fluttered open, but his body felt like it weighed too much and he couldn't get up. Eyes half-lidded, he gazed at the open window. The grey fog frosted the glass, but he saw the blurry image of Derek—and his insistent eyebrows—pointing to the latch. Stiles blinks long and slow, almost unable to reopen them. Derek was knocking again. Stiles swallowed, feeling the dryness in his mouth.

"Okay," he breathed.

And then he fell onto the floor with a loud thump. Derek rolled his eyes. "Stiles, seriously—" He paused, narrowing his eyes on Stiles' face. Distracting pretty lashes aside, there was something glinting just on the line of his lids at the corners of his eyes. "Stiles?" He jimmied the window. "_Stiles."_ Stiles' eyes fluttered but he didn't get up. With a frustrated groan, Derek pulled the window open, snapping the latch in a loud _crack._ He hopped inside and crouched on the floor. He took Stiles by the shoulder and shook him. "Stiles," he whispered, putting a hand on his cheek and lifting him up, "you have to wake up."

"Der…ek." He sighed and swallowed, leaning into his hand.

Leaning close, Derek heard the gentle thump of the boy's heart and the slow breaths. But on inspection of his eyes, he noticed a light sheen of something blue. "Absinthum," he muttered, a slight panic to his voice. "C'mon—" He pulled Stiles up against him, dug into his pocket, and dialed Dr. Deaton's number. He answered on the second ring.

_"It's six in the morning, Derek. Your wolves are fine. They're sleeping."_

"There's blue under his eyes—that Absinthum stuff. He won't wake up."

There was an agonizing pause. Derek gritted his teeth, eyes darting all around him and not even registering half of his surroundings. All he felt was the sleeping teenager in his arms.

_"Stiles?"_

"Yes, Stiles. Who else do you—never mind. How do I fix this?" His voice was panicked and he didn't care.

There was another agonizing pause but this one much less than the last. _"Take him to the bathroom."_

Derek was up in less than a second. One arm wrapped under Stiles' arms and the other holding the phone to his ear. He dragged him across the hall and into the bathroom. "I'm there now what."

_"Cold shower."_

Derek hesitated for only a split second before he blasted the freezing water in the tub.

_"It'll probably wake him up enough so you can wash out his eyes. Get a towel. Don't touch the stuff."_

"And that's it?"

_"For now. Call me back."_

Derek slid the phone on the counter and starting backtracking into the bathtub. He was going to have to climb in there. Gritting his teeth and giving one epic eye roll to the universe that was meant to be sarcastic but ended up feeling more self-assuring than anything else because _Derek was way too worried to be sarcastic_, Derek awkwardly climbing into the tub, pulling Stiles with him under the frigid water.

Instantly there was a gasp and Stiles startled awake, body shaking from the sudden onslaught of _ice water._ It was only until Derek felt the icy line of water under his shirt that realized he probably should have taken some clothes off. _Some._

"D-D-D-D-Derek!" Stiles chattered out, shakily twisting under Derek's vice grip. "Wh-Wh-Wh-What the h-h-h-h-h-hell?"

"Just—" Derek twisted around and grabbed a towel off the rack, "shut up—No, never mind. Don't shut up. Keep talking. Just keep talking." The cold water pounded down Derek's back. He was soaked within minutes with water pouring down his face.

"Wh-Wh-Wh-What are y-y-y-y-you d-d-doing?

"—Stop trying to turn around. Just lean back. I've got to wash out your eyes." Derek balanced Stiles against him under the showerhead, one arm around his middle and the other reached up with the towel to wipe the Absinthum from under his eyes. "You've got stuff—blue stuff." He could feel Stiles' heart pounding from his back.

"I-I-It's alr-r-r-ready c-c-c-cold—hyp-p-p—"

"You're not going to get hypothermia." Derek pressed themselves cheek-to-cheek and pressed his hand tighter on Stiles' waist. He wiped at the shine under his eyes with shaky fingers. "I run about five degrees hotter than most people. You can feel the heat on your back, right?"

"Y-y-y-es, b-b-b-but—"

"Then there's not a problem," Derek breathed. "Now just—I'm going to tip your head back. We have to wash out your eyes."

"N-n-n—Aaaghhhh!"

"Keep your hands down!" Derek grabbed his hands and pulled them off his face.

"Derek—_Jesus Christ!"_

Derek pushed him back up. Stiles sputtered and frantically rubbed his eyes. Derek shut off the shower and pulled Stiles back out of the tub. He grabbed a dry towel and wrapped it around the boy's shaking shoulders, patting his face and head as dry as he could. Stiles' teeth chattered as he blinked reddened, stinging eyes at Derek. They looked like amber orbs of unadulterated rage.

"Wh-What the _fuck,"_ Stiles breathed as soon as he could get a word out from his chattering teeth and violent shakes.

Derek grabbed the wet towel and showed him the light blue spots. "You weren't waking up."

He pulled the towel tighter around him. There wasn't any less rage in his eyes. Derek just stood there dripping on the rug. With an angry scowl, Stiles ripped the towel away from him and started _painfully_ trying to dry Derek's hair.

"Hey—_ow."_

"You deserve it."

"I just _saved y—mmpphhm."_ Stiles rubbed the towel all over Derek's face with a satisfied smirk.

"I wouldn't have died, you moron." He pulled the towel around Derek's shoulders, wrapping him tightly. "Absinthum is just a natural sleeping agent."

Derek looked at him from under his brows. "But wolfsbane is _poisonous."_

"Only in large doses." Stiles shook his head sniffled. His whole face was turning pink with reestablished heat. He pointed to his eyes. "I don't think that was enough."

"How do you know?"

Stiles tipped his head. "Well I don't _feel_ like vomiting. And I think the tingling in my face is due to you stuffing me under _ice water."_

Derek bit his lip. "Still…you wouldn't wake up."

"I would have just been asleep."

"Well I need you _awake."_ There was a little desperation in Derek's eyes. And a little trace of that panic from several minutes ago. And the way his mouth curled down and pouted…it was…very adorable, Stiles thought. He tried not to smile in the face of Derek's clear distress. But it was too damn cute. "What are you _smiling_ at?"

Stiles laughed. "You're just really funny oh my God."

"I—ugh." Derek shook his head. He glanced down. "Your clothes are all wet."

Stiles pulled the suctioned Batman shirt from his abdomen to loosen it. "So are yours."

"I don't want your clothes."

"Well did you happen to bring a change of clothes when you decided to crash in and stick me in a cold shower? No? Well then I guess you pick out something pretty. Oh, don't look so sour—you're only an inch taller than I am and not that wider so you'll fit _fine._ C'mon." He grabbed his wrist and pulled Derek back into his bedroom. He shut the door and then peeled off the sticking layer. "Oh, and jeez this whole thing almost made me forget, I found something last night." Stiles shook out the wet shirt and hung it in his closet. "Toss me that towel, will you?"

Derek did. Without taking his eyes off the gleaming pale torso in front of him. Soft skin. But at the same time firm. There was a very…lean musculature underneath all those layers. He quietly cleared his throat. "What did you find?"

Stiles patted the towel on his skin. "The two victims? Related. Literally. Like, the first guy was the second's long lost father. Totally weird right? You gonna keep that shirt on, or…?"

Derek swallowed and pulled off his black shirt. The chilly air from the window hit his chest, sending goosebumps along his skin. Or maybe it was the split second—that he felt rather than noticed—where Stiles let his eyes travel. But he barely had time to feel embarrassed before the towel was being tossed in his face and his shirt snatched from his hands.

"Anyway, this guy—the father—was a professor of mythology at UCLA. I know, right? What was he doing in Beacon Hills? Well he did grow up here—same as the kid. But what was he doing _back?_ I mean, it could be because he found out he had a son…and I think that may be part of it—did you want Iron Man or Captain America?" Stiles held up the red and blue shirts in each hand, respectively. Derek jerked his eyes away from…other areas and pulled the Captain America one. Dark blue suited him better anyway. He slipped it on. Stiles watched in appreciation, pulling on the Iron Man one. "Looks good on you. Cap is the best avenger you know."

"Yeah he's your favorite. You told me."

"And don't you forget it." Stiles found a dark grey pair of jeans, stepped forward, and held them up to Derek's waist. "We're about the same length, I guess. But…I don't know. You've got more booty than I do."

Derek choked. "What?"

Stiles frowned. "And, you know, muscle. So not fair."

His eyes were wide as he glanced from Stiles' face to the jeans.

"Welp, only one way to find out. Jeans. Off."

"Um."

"Seriously."

"I—"

"I go to high school. I'm on the _lacrosse_ team. Sort of."

"What."

"_Boy's Locker room?"_

"Oh."

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you…blushing?"

Derek shook his head. "No."

Stiles cracked a smile. "Oh come on. Just take off your jeans." He rolled his eyes. "Alright fine, I'll turn around…to protect your virtue or whatever."

Derek waited until he back was fully turned before unzipping his jeans. "So…what about this guy?" It was times like these that Derek was glad he didn't bother with underwear. He didn't think he could take the indignity of borrowing from _Stiles._

"Oh yeah, well I think they were up to something in the woods. Not surprising, really. I'm pretty sure at this point that that invisible thing—which, by the way, I still don't know what the heck it is—lives out there in the woods and is the reason why Isaac is missing and those two dudes dead after venturing out there. And…it might've been the thing that was out there the other morning? You know? The thing that disappeared out of thin air?"

The jeans fit. They were a little tight, but they fit. He'd change as soon as he could anyway.

Stiles turned around. "Did you find your uncle—you look so weird in my clothes. It's like you've trespassed into the world of fandom and lost all your original self only to come out like a confused child wearing a shirt some stranger gave you off their back."

"I—what? Never mind. I found him. There was nothing on the laptop. Just some old legends that didn't quite fit."

"Same." Stiles sighed. "Saaame." He glanced down at his wet jeans. "God I hate wet underwear. It like sticks to your junk."

Derek snorted.

Stiles unzipped and peeled his pants off right there. He was wearing Batman underwear. And it was wet. Clinging. To areas. Derek's face flushed red and he turned around just before Stiles peeled those off too with a cracking grin. Derek was too much fun to tease.

"Yeah, um, the closest thing was this sleep demon spirit thing. It takes its victims eyes. You probably know the nice story of the Sandman."

Stiles paused, one leg in his jeans, shook his head, and laughed. "That's so weird I came across the same thing." He shoved his other leg in jeans. "Evil Sandman that takes children's eyes. Weird."

Derek turned around. "What?"

Stiles blinked, freezing for a second as his words just registered. "What?"


	16. Chapter 16

"That can't be a coincidence," Derek muttered.

"No, I don't think so. It's ridiculous that's what it is." Stiles ruffled a hand through his hair. "The _sandman?_ No, dude. That's way too bizarre an idea. I thought I was totally done when Jackson was a _lizard_ but now—now I'm so done not even Jesus could convince me _not _to be done."

"Well it's not the "sandman" like you know it. It's a sleep spirit." Derek sat down at Stiles' computer and opened Google. He typed in a name: _Morpheus._ "Morpheus is the Greek God of Sleep and he's the leader of a set of spirits called the Oneiroi who take human form and deliver dreams to mortals. Mostly prophetic dreams, but sometimes nightmares. It depends on where they come from."

Stiles took a breath. "So what about the deaths? The eyes?"

"You said yourself there were legends of an evil sandman that took children's eyes. I read the same thing—evil spirits that took the human soul though the eyes, consequently taking the eyes with them."

Stiles sat on his bed. "Why is it invisible then? Why now? What about Scott?"

Derek blew out a breath. "I don't know."

"It's got to have something to do with this professor," Stiles said after a tense moment. "Whatever he was doing in the forest."

Derek blinked. "We have to look for Isaac."

Stiles threw a sweater over his Batman tee and then pulled on a jacket. "We're taking _my _car."

"I was in your car. It's a wreck waiting to happen."

Stiles whipped around just before they were about to descend the stairs. "Don't insult my baby."

"Or wha—did you just flick my forehead?" Derek rubbed the center of his forehead.

Stiles raised a brow.

"Okay, sorry…"

"Good." Stiles trampled down the stairs…and then stopped.

Derek nearly smacked into his back. "Why are you—oh."

Stiles swallowed. His father was on the couch fast asleep. There was a light blue sheen under his eyes. Tentatively, he strode over and put a hand on his father's arm. "Dad. _Dad."_ He gave him a little shake. Swallowing again, he glanced back at Derek.

Derek shook his head. "There's no time."

"Derek, this is my _dad."_

"He'll be fine. You said so yourself."

Stiles let out a shaky breath. "I wasn't sure okay. I mean, logically…but…what if?"

Derek sighed and pulled out his phone. He dialed Dr. Deaton's number again.

_"Did it work?"_

"Yes it did. He's awake. But his father isn't."

A short pause on the other side. _"Same thing as Stiles?"_

"Yes. But we have to continue looking for Isaac. We think whatever monster is causing this is out there in the forest. Just…will he die if we leave him?"

_"I don't think so. Look, Derek, the smart thing to do is to look for whatever is causing this and destroy it. I believe that the magical properties in the blue secretion are directly connected with the monster. If you kill it, it may reverse the symptoms completely. And it may restore your wolves."_

Derek let out a breath. "Thank you."

_"And—wait. Derek."_

Derek put the phone back to his ear. "What?"

_"You may have washed out the substance from his eyes, but it has entered his system. It's likely he may relapse."_

Derek clenched his jaw. "Okay." He hung up. "Your father is going to be fine if we find the thing and kill it."

Stiles nodded, a relieved sigh escaping his lips. Even so, it took Derek gently nudging him to get him to leave. When they were finally in his Jeep and bumping along the empty roads—straight through the green lights—Stiles decided to speak again.

"Are you still living in that subway cart thing?"

Derek's eyebrows shot straight up. "Um, yeah?"

Stiles shook his head. "The Argents stopped hunting, you know."

"There are still hunters."

"Around here?"

"…Not that I know of."

Stiles pursed his lips. "So what's the problem? You can't get an apartment or something?"

Derek looked uncomfortable. Stiles waved his hand impatiently. "I don't know."

"You don't know if you can get an apartment?"

"My sister always took care of things. I never…"

Then it clicked. "You don't know _how_ to get your own apartment?"

Derek was seriously uncomfortable.

Stiles glanced at him incredulously. "How _old_ are you?"

"Not that old okay?" Derek squirmed in his seat.

"What the hell have you been doing? How do you _shower?_ Where do you keep your clothes? What do you eat? What do you do?" Stiles gave him another once-over. "You're always so…" _Immaculate? Flawless? Lickable? "…_ _You—" _Stiles waved his hands again. "Seriously how does that happen?"

Derek bit his lip. "There's a working bathroom in the station."

"You need to get yourself an apartment. Or fix your house." He made a sharp turn and the Jeep bumped onto the rough forest terrain. They sped through the trees until they saw the Hale house. It was still dark and gloomy, but the pale gold morning light broke through the thick wall of grey fog and added a slight glimmer to the charred rooftops. Stiles killed the engine and chewed his lip.

"I doubt anyone my age has any idea how to fix a house."

Stiles snorted. "You probably have a point there. But then again some people your age have degrees."

Derek raised his brows. "What makes you think I don't have a degree?"

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Two-year or four-year?"

Derek pursed his lips. "Two."

"In what?"

He shifted uncomfortably again. "Art history."

Stiles burst out with a wild cackle.

"Shut up…"

Stiles continued chuckling even as he followed Derek out the car. "Dude, seriously? What were planning on _doing_ with that?"

Derek's shoulders tensed. "I…really liked going to the Guggenheim."

Stiles' laughs subsided into a genial smile. "And you wanted to be a curator or something?"

"No. I just liked art. But I just got my Associates. Laura kept telling me I couldn't do anything with it so I decided to major in something else for my Bachelor's."

"But you didn't get a Bachelor's."

"I decided to work for a year. It turned into two years and then…all this shit happened."

Stiles nodded along as they navigated the woods, being extra vigilante for invisible creatures or some other craziness. "And what did you do? Work, I mean."

Derek shrugged. "I waited tables."

Stiles grinned at them and nudged Derek's shoulder. "Oh yeah?"

"What are you smiling about?"

"I bet you got _tons_ of tips, right?"

"Um, I guess?"

Stiles' grin grew wider. "Pretty popular?"

"I guess so. I did well."

"I bet you did."

Derek stopped right next to a tree and whipped around to face him. "What are you implying?" And dang he almost couldn't be annoyed because Stiles' smile was actually pretty…nice. Just nice. Despite the mischievousness. Not endearing whatsoever. But Derek had practiced the perfect frown so none of his little heart jumps showed on his face.

Stiles just looked Derek up and down really, _really_ slowly and licked his lips.

"No." He shook his head. "I earned those tips."

"You sure did."

Heat rose on his neck. He struggled for a second but then he cracked a half-smile. "So you think I'm hot?"

Stiles' brows shot up and he grinned. "You know you're hot."

Derek tossed his head from side to side in mock consideration. He turned and started walking again down the slope. Stiles jumped to follow, sliding on the leaves as he trotted down.

"So how many times did someone slip you their number?"

Derek gave him a quizzical look. "Why don't we talk about _you_ for once?"

Stiles shrugged. "I don't even have a romantic life to talk about. I was in love with the same girl since the third grade and she never gave me the time of day."

"And what about now?"

Stiles hesitated for a second. He glanced away into the misty trees. "She's with Jackson. I get it. We're sort of friends and I'm cool with that."

"…You're not bad looking. Just so you know."

Stiles looked shocked. "What?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "I can see someone being attracted to you. I mean…Erica had a crush on you."

"Okay but _what's_ attractive about me?"

Derek bit his lip and tried not to smile. "You've got a cute face," he said as sarcastically as he could…which actually didn't sound very sarcastic.

Stiles just groaned. "I don't want to be _cute_."

They were nearing the river. Both of them could hear the faint rush of water.

"Your face is cute. You've got those doe eyes. People like that sort of thing."

"Oh yeah that really screams _sexy—"_ All the wind was knocked out of him as Derek shoved him into a tree and put a hand over his mouth. Stiles just rolled his eyes with a muffled little groan. Derek wasn't looking at him and Stiles could tell that all of his senses were on high alert. Something was behind them again. Stiles patted Derek's arm. He let go.

"Same?" he mouthed.

Derek nodded. He put a finger to his lips and pulled him around the tree. He glanced in the thick fog but saw nothing. After a second he blew out a breath. "It's gone. But it wasn't coming this way like last time. It was…walking…that way." He pointed north.

"Up the river."

They looked at each other and then started again through the woods. They reached the river within the next minute and stopped at the water's edge. There was something odd.

"It wasn't like this before…" Derek crouched down and reached out a hand.

Stiles grabbed his arm. "Don't touch it. Look." He pointed to the rocks at the edge just under the surface. "It's blue." And when they glanced back up at the whole river, they saw it then. There was a strange blue mist hovering over the water. Derek pushed Stiles back.

"Come on," Derek insisted. He gripped his wrist and started tugging him a good distance away from the river before moving north.

They moved through the trees as quickly and silently as they could.

"It's much stronger now," Derek said after about a good half hour of walking.

"What is?"

"The nothing smell."

"That makes no sense."

"Everything has a scent, Stiles. Even you. The fact that the stuff has no smell is like having a blank part in your vision. It's strong enough now that I can actually track it because it _has no smell_. It's the blank part in the smell of the forest. And the fact that it's stronger means that were getting close."

"Close to what?" Stiles breathed, not expecting an answer.

They stayed in silence for several more minutes, and then Derek halted. He scanned the air, turned on the spot, and then scanned some more.

"Share with the class?"

"Remember, awhile ago, how I told you I felt something weird in the air?"

"Sure?"

"This is it."

"I don't feel anything."

"You wouldn't. Come on." He tugged him in a different direction this time—closer to the river. They walked until Stiles could definitely hear it, loud and thunderous in this part. At that point the fog dispersed and they had a clear view of roaring waters and black, jutting rocks that scattered spray into the air. The trees were thick in this part, the ground was moist, and they could see tiny green tendrils poking from the earth where the brown, curling leaves did not cover. The grey trunks shot into the air, branches looking at least a mile above their heads. "There's not enough sun or warmth for anything green," was all Derek said.

"Does that look strange to you?" Stiles asked pointing to a tree a few paces ahead.

Derek followed his finger. "Oh." He tugged Stiles forward until they were at the tree. There were four neat slashes along the bark. He put a hand to the marks. "It's Isaac."

"Some kind of message?"

"Yeah. It means he's been here."

"Helpful."

Derek gave him a look. "It actually is. It means that we've followed the right path. It also means that he wasn't sure he'd make it back, so he left a path for us to find him just in case."

"Oh, so a warning then. Perfect."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Come on."

He grabbed Stiles' wrist again and pulled him through the trees. The more they walked, the clearer the air became. It was several minutes of pained searching before they found the next mark. After the third one, the marks were easier to find. They were generally headed in the direction of the river—but also kept heading north until the waters were calmer and the ground flatter. They'd reached the top of a plateau at that point and the trees were thicker and the world around them was definitely and strangely greener. Moss grew at the bottoms of grey trunks and grass was thick on the edges of the river. Stiles found it oddly beautiful, but Derek was tense and shiftier than usual.

"The weird feeling…it's like the world is trying to crush in on itself here. It feels like…like…" Derek visibly struggled to articulate what he was feeling. His hands clenched and his jaw set. "Like something was removed? Or tipped off balance? I just…there's a disorder."

"Like if one tile in a pattern of tiles is wrong?"

Derek's eyes widened. "Yes."

Stiles nodded sagely. "It messes up the whole thing."

They kept walking along the river, which grew wider and darker with each passing step. The earth kept getting greener until they could see thick leafy branches ahead, casting a dark gloom without the sun to send its rays down—because the sky was still foggy and grey and despite looking the opposite, it was still freezing. The river turned as they neared the mass of growth; it started to head northwest. And when the pair traveled underneath the branches, it started to look more like a tunnel over the river than anything else.

"I didn't even know this place existed?" Stiles wondered aloud.

Derek twitched his neck. "I'm…not sure it does."

It was dark under the heavy branches. The only sounds were the soft noises of the water trickling downstream and the gentle sigh of the leaves in the cold wind. They saw one more mark along a lush brown tree before they saw a glimmer of light at the end of this tunnel. It wasn't light so much as it wasn't _dark_ like the tunnel they walked under. It was gloomy grey and misty just like the forest at least an hour's walk behind them. As they neared, they first saw a large wall of smooth stone where the trees ended. The river reflected little waves along its surface as it curved away from them.

They hadn't reached the end of the tunnel when Derek suddenly grew very still, his hand gripping Stiles' fiercely. "There it is," he whispered. "I can hear it."

"The thing?"

"The thing."

"Where?"

He glanced toward the wall of stone that curved with the river to some path that couldn't be seen behind the trees.

"It's—" Derek's eyes flashed red in a moment of panic. He yelled, "Stiles!" and then he disappeared.


	17. Chapter 17

Stiles found himself being violently awoken under a surge of ice cold water. He gasped and sputtered as his vision slowly came back from the black abyss. He was in some sort of metallic tub in a brightly lit room, and someone was holding a metal spray on the coldest possible setting over his face. He tried to move, but a firm hand pushed him back.

"Stay still. I've got to wash your eyes," Dr. Deaton said.

And then there was a towel on his stinging eyes and it was horrible.

"Derek," Stiles finally said when he could a word out through his chattering teeth and shivering.

"I was going to ask you the same thing."

The spray shut off. Dr. Deaton helped Stiles out of the tub and tossed him a towel. Only the upper half of him, thankfully, was soaked. Stiles rubbed his puffy eyes with the towel until they stopped stinging.

"God, what happened?" he asked as he pulled at his wet tee.

"You tell me. I found you on the side of the road by the forest. Asleep. I told Derek that you could relapse…"

"_What?_ He never… oh that douchebag."

Dr. Deaton waved a hand. "It doesn't matter—tell me what happened."

Stiles shook his head. "I don't…remember." He thought back. What was he doing before? He remembered his first ice bath with Derek, the very _personal_ dressing session, and then they were by the river... Everything came flooding back in that second.

"Holy shit!"

"What?"

"Derek!"

Dr. Deaton just impatiently gestured for him to keep going.

"He-he—" Stiles waved his hands in the air.

"Words. Use your words."

"_Disappeared!"_

"Disappeared?"

Stiles nodded vigorously. "One second we were the forest—a really weird part of the forest too—and the next he was just _poof_ gone. And then…I don't remember anything."

Dr. Deaton took a seat on one of the stools behind him. "You're going to have to explain from the beginning."

So Stiles told him—omitting certain conversation—how they further they traveled upstream the greener the forest became. It was like everything was already in spring but it was still cold as hell. And he told him about Derek's weird feeling—like something was off in the world—and how Derek suspected the place wasn't _real._

And when he was done it took several minutes for Deaton to process what he was saying. But finally he nodded as he seemed to be coming to some conclusion. "Is there anything else?"

Stiles racked his brain and then remembered. "Oh yeah, and we maybe figured that it was some sort of sleep demon spirit thing. Like the sandman—but evil. And invisible."

"Ah, I had a suspicion when you told me about Derek's feeling."

Stiles raised his brows. "So you know what it is?"

"Well now I do. You should have told me this before. I could have told you a lot more."

"We just figured it out."

Deaton just raised a brow.

"Okay, okay."

"The thing is, it's not invisible. Follow me." Deaton stood up and led Stiles out of the washroom and into the main room with the metal table and most of the operating equipment. "Stay here." He walked into his office and came out a minute later with a laptop. He booted it up, waited for everything to load, and then searched for a specific file. It was a scan of a really old, decaying map of the world. There were several lines that stretched across continents crossing each other and strange markings and symbols that Stiles didn't recognize.

"You see these little house markings?" Stiles nodded. "They represent shrines. They're all over the world. You see how there are different insignias under the little roofs though—that repeat in different parts of the world? They're ancient glyphs to represent the gods and deities that people worshipped. People had different names, looks, and legends for these deities but the deities themselves remained the same at the root. This makes for an interesting mythology lesson, but I won't get into that. You see, this map compiles all the evidence of the gods from different cultures and arranges it under one conglomerate of information. From here you can see where certain gods and deities cropped up in folklore.

"Now, the markings for the shrines are not derived from any folklore but rather they were discovered and marked by the people in my _other_ line of work. The shrines are supposedly where these gods lived and where they currently hold power." He put a hand up when he saw Stiles about to ask a question. "_However,_ these shrines do not exist in our universe. They exist on a plane parallel to our own. But that wasn't always the case."

Stiles had a million questions lined up, but the last sentence stunned him into silence. Dr. Deaton just nodded.

"A very long time ago, the gods and the humans co-existed. I could get in to all the horrible things that happened because of it, but all you really need to know is that the biggest taboo of all was broken between the two species and that is why the gods were removed from this existence—by force."

"What was the taboo?"

"Intermingling of species."

Something clicked in Stiles' brain. "Werewolves."

Deaton nodded. "And other things. But, yes, precisely. The gods were removed by force, but they couldn't do the same to the _abominations_. They were half-human after all. Many tried to hunt them, but obviously they didn't get them all."

Stiles waved his hands. "So, okay, this is…super interesting and all—and I'm definitely going to pester you later to tell me literally everything—but _Derek."_

Deaton nodded. "You need to understand this first. The gods may have been removed from this plane, but they couldn't completely sever their power. In fact, some people in my other line of work say that during certain times the gods are able to sort of astral project themselves in this world. Like during certain moon phases or the solstices—when the veil between the two planes is at its thinnest. However, there are certain places on this earth where their power is _always_ strongest. Like, doors between the universes—well, more like windows."

"The shrines."

"Technically, it's where the shrines _used _to be. When we found out about this, they were documented and sealed. The seals themselves exist on this plane." He pointed to the map. "The spirits can wander these areas but they cannot interact or use their powers. I suppose it contributed to the abandoning of many religions, beliefs, and practices over the centuries."

Stiles bit his lip as the information processed. "So what would happen if one seal was broken?"

Dr. Deaton smiled and glanced at the door to the backroom. It was dark. But Stiles knew that the wolves were in there. "I think it's obvious."

Stiles sighed. "So this guy finds out about this shrine and then he goes and breaks the seal? And then this deity escapes and kills him. And then kills his son when that kid goes and looks for him."

Dr. Deaton shrugged. "The spirits are vengeful."

Stiles scoffed. "Understatement of the year."

"Well it's true. Even now this spirit lacks sufficient power to fully become a part of this world, which is why you perceive it as _invisible_ when it's simply _not exactly here._ I think it's trying to gain more power by taking the wolves and putting people to sleep—and, of course, killing._"_

"So if I fix the seal, everything will go back to normal?"

"Probably."

He was going to take what he could get. "So how do I do that?"

"Logic. And a little bit of magic. The seals are physical objects that are enchanted. I doubt this professor knew what he was doing enough to remove the spell, so I'm going to assume that he simply removed the object from the area where the shrine existed, thus breaking the connection. If you put it back, and reestablish the binding spell, everything should go back to normal."

Stiles bit his lip. "Why does this feel like an 'easier said than done' type of thing?"

Dr. Deaton frowned. "Because the hard part is probably going to be finding where the seal was. If you don't know what you're looking for, you won't find it. That's how it's stayed hidden for so long. Of course, it's not impossible to find—it was never meant to be impossible—but most people tend not to care to look or to even attempt to look."

"What about the magic part?"

"Mountain Ash."

"So I just sprinkle a bit on whatever this object is and then be on my merry way?"

"And some words."

Stiles smiled and nodded. "I'm not a wizard."

"You don't have to be a wizard. You just have to believe that it will work."

"Oh, more of this."

"You did it before didn't you?"

Stiles sputtered. "That was a fluke."

"No, it _worked."_

"I… What about you? Can't you do it?"

Deaton glanced at the back door. "I don't think it's best that I leave."

Stiles exhaled, crossed his arms, and leaned against he metal table. He shook his head and then waved his hand. "Go on then, what am I supposed to do?"

So Deaton laid it all out for him, right down to the weird Latin words he was supposed to say that were more than likely going to feel like he was performing some sort of exorcism—in fact that wasn't too far from the truth. One of the problems was that the seal, according to his knowledge, was located between a fold in space. But from what Stiles told him, he couldn't guarantee this. His best bet was to keep going along the path he had before. There would be small wooden house (to represent the shrine) over running water—and that is where the seal should be. The biggest problem, would be finding the sealing object. More than likely, the spirit would be looking for it.

"What if it's already found it?"

Dr. Deaton shook his head. "It hasn't—or we would all be dead. You have the advantage here, Stiles, believe it or not. It can't completely step into this world and use all of its powers because the seal itself isn't completely broken. Yet, it's bound to a sort of pseudo physical form when it walks around."

Stiles thought back to the police station. "It can't just walk through walls and stuff. There are physical boundaries."

Dr. Deaton nodded. "Yes. You need to give yourself more credit, Stiles. You're smart."

"Well…" Stiles tried not to smile. "A little—wait a second. The police station."

"What about it?"

"The thing broke in to the station. Like it was looking for something. It went into the impound lot. You know whose car is in there for evidence? The _professor's._"

"It's in the car?"

"No…or it would have found it… It's somewhere else." The gears were turning behind Stiles' brown eyes. And then—the light bulb turned on. He grabbed the paper with the spell, sputtered something along the lines of "cars and sons" and then ran out of the vet's office.

It was when the cold air bit his soaked tee that he realized that his jeep was still in the forest—and he didn't have a jacket. Dr. Deaton came out a second later with his jacket and a shaking head. "I think you forgot something."

"Right." He zipped it up.

"And take this. It should keep you awake."

_Oh right. Relapse. Derek is such a douchenozzle. Good thing he's pretty._ "Thanks." In his hand was a light blue stone on a silver chain. It had a clasp so he wrapped it around his neck. "Please do not tell me this was, like, made out of that spirit's ectoplasm or some shit."

Deaton just side-eyed him, said good luck, and then went back into his office.

Stiles thought of saying something sarcastic like, _fat lot of help you've been!_ But then he realized that, yeah, Deaton was actually helpful this time. Like a lot. _Well when the whole town is basically like a chapter out of Sleeping Beauty then I guess being helpful and less mysterious is the better option. _

Stiles looked to the road. At least a mile to the main road and another mile to the Hale house. He started off. Since this was obviously a fairytale—wherein he had to rescue Princess Derek from the clutches of an evil demon—he was going to assume that next day of his life, which was actually mostly over with the sun setting and all that, was going to be the most treacherous by far. And as Stiles set off on this _quest_ to retrieve his noble steed and find the magic seal, he couldn't help but feel the old creeping of doubt settle on his brain. Because Stiles was not a hero. But everyone—his best friend and his father and _Derek—_was counting on _him_ to _be_ one. The prognosis wasn't very good, but a two things kept him going: the need to fix things with Scott, and Derek's face when he woke up to Stiles carrying him princess style to safety.

**A/N:** Thank you guys so much for reading! This chapter, I'm assuming you figured out, was probably the most informational based and maybe the most difficult to understand. Honestly, I kept having to go back and make sure everything made sense. If you have any questions just ask! And, I apologize for this being more transitional than action-y.

-J

p.s. I always feel like writing little notes to you guys at the end of the chapters but somehow I always forget. Here's to hoping I remember next week!


	18. Chapter 18

Stiles recovered his jeep and practically flew back to his house. His father was still comatose on the couch when he walked in. And Stiles felt the pang in his gut as he walked by. But he had a goal. And he searched for that goal through all of his father's things.

After nearly ripping apart the entire house, he found it. The kid's file. He scanned through the documents and found what he was looking for.

"He drives a _mystery machine?"_ Stiles muttered incredulously. He flipped back to the photo. "Well…if your hair were lighter."

Stiles quickly wrote down the address, looked it up on Google, and then booked it out of the house. Stiles didn't bother with traffic lights. Until he made it out of the city and all of the sudden life started to trickle back into view and then he slowed it down and remembered traffic laws and such.

Christopher Bailey's house was more like half a house. It sat on one of those streets where it looked like all the houses were cut in half. They were all separated by a wire fence about half Stile's height and looked like it would be painful if he tried to jump over it and failed. His house, specifically, was yellow—a really ugly, peeling yellow with a white roof and a door that looked like it was going to fall off when it opened again. A dog was barking somewhere.

Stiles pulled up and killed the engine.

"Alright, Stilinski," he told himself, glancing in the rear mirror. "You can do this. _I'm so sorry for your loss. _No that sounds like I'm trying. I mean, I need to try but I don't need to sound like a heartless douchebag out for their money or something. _Hello, Mrs. Marcus, I hope things are well. I knew your son from coll—_so now I'm a liar? Well, that's not new." Stiles pursed his lips and tapped his fingers on the wheel.

"Fuck it." Stiles got out of his jeep.

He pushed past the gate, stomped up the steps, and then knocked on the door.

The neighborhood was quiet. "Too quiet…" he muttered, eyeing the sunny emptiness. The sun was also weird. But then again it was California.

"Can a help you?" a smoky voice said.

Stiles jumped around. "Oh, hi! Mrs. Bailey…?"

She was a ginger woman maybe in her fifties with saggy blue eyes. "Yeah?" She put a cigarette to her lips and took a breath.

"Uhhhhhh…."

"You need money for some high school fundraiser or can I shut the door?"

"You'd give me money for a school fundraiser?"

"No."

Stiles shook his head. "I was a friend of um _Chris_—from school."

She raised a brow. "You don't look like a college student."

"I get that a lot. Um, look Chris had some of my stuff in his car and I was hoping…"

"Yeah, look, I don't really care." She took another long draw from her cigarette and then blew it in his face. Stiles forced himself to not breathe. "The cops already took his car. I don't know what's happening."

"Yep," Stiles said, still holding his breath as smoke pooled around his face, "thanks."

He got out of there as soon as he could. Mrs. Marcus sneered and slammed the door. When Stiles got back into his jeep, he pulled out his phone ready to call…someone. Except no one was available. Except maybe Lydia, but then again what if she was asleep, too?

He tried it anyway. She picked up on the third ring. She sounded tired.

_"What do you want, Stiles?"_

"Lydia? Oh thank _God._ Were you asleep?"

_"No."_

"You're not feeling tired or anything?"

_"No. God, you're such a weirdo. What do you want?"_

"So you're totally okay?"

_"What do you want, Stiles?"_

Stiles shook his head. "Okay, okay. Some werid shit is happening in case you haven't noticed."

_"Oh, I've noticed. We noticed like a zillion years ago. You've just been too holed up in your head to actually notice anything around you , Stilinski. My mother is comatose in her bed. It's been like this for like two days. If Deaton hadn't told me she'd be fine, I'd be cutting a bitch right now. Same thing with Jackson. You know I had to deal with him suddenly not being able to control himself, right? Like, none of the usual stuff worked. He would just change."_

Stiles chewed his lip. "I've got a plan, Lydia. Jackson is going to be fine. How is it you're not asleep anyway?"

_"Does it sound like I know? Maybe because I'm immune or something? How are you not asleep? Jesus. It doesn't even matter. Now what do you want from me?"_

"Uhhh, look I'm gonna figure this out. I know how to stop this."

She was mute on the other line.

"Lydia?"

_"I was waiting for you to keep going."_

"Oh, well I need to find this thing. I think it's in the second victim's—from the river—car. Except, his mom said it was impounded—the car not the thing. But it can't be at the police station in Beacon Hills because all those people are asleep. Have been."

_"What do you want me to do about it?"_

"I think… I think it might've been towed but it never got to the police station. Is there some way you can find out for me where it might be?"

_"I'll see what I can do."_ She hung up.

Stiles tapped his fingers nervously on the wheel. And then he noticed Mrs. Marcus in one of her windows, staring pointedly in his direction. Five seconds later and he was peeling away from that house.

He drove toward Beacon Hills because he didn't know where else to go. He drove past the freeway entrance at least seven times before Lydia called him back. He stopped at a Panda Express parking lot and picked up his phone.

_"The tow truck is parked off Main and Third. The guy is asleep inside. What car are you looking for?"_

"A mystery machine—I mean a _Volkswagen."_

_"Yeah there's one here. It's green."_

"Wait, you're there now?"

_"Yeah—where are you"_

"Uhh, I'll be there in like fifteen minutes just—"

_"Don't use your phone and drive, moron."_ Lydia hung up.

Grumbling, Stiles tossed his phone in the passenger seat and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the freeway. He was there in twenty minutes—there was a spot of traffic since it was afternoon rush hour. Main and Third was a road he rarely ever visited. It wasn't in his direct line of places he frequented, but it was on the way to the police station.

It wasn't a tow truck it was a car carrier and it had several other cars on its train. Most notably was the green mystery machine on the end. Lydia was tapping her foot impatiently next to her own car at the curb. When she saw him she put up her hands in frustration.

"You said you'd be here five minutes ago, Stilinski," she said after he got out of the car.

"Sorry, sorry."

"I don't have time for this. I want my boyfriend and my mom back."

"There was traffic."

She put up a finger. "Whatever. Don't you have something to take care of?"

Stiles rushed over to the mystery machine. He tried to peer inside but the windows were too dusty to see anything. He tried the handle. Locked. Lydia cleared her throat next to him. In her hand were a set of keys with flowers and fuzzy dice on the end.

"They were with the driver, dumbass."

Stiles snatched the keys from her hand. She crossed her arms as he opened up the door and jumped inside. The space was a dump. Old McDonald's bags everywhere. The occasional Taco Bell cup and wrapper. And even more often a traffic violation. Stiles sifted through the garbage, checked the glove compartment, and under the seats. Nothing stood out. He climbed into the backseat. It was less of a dump, but still a dump. And there was a broken surfboard, three backpacks, a duffle bag, and a basket of dirty laundry.

"Jesus Christ," Stiles muttered. "Did he live in here?"

He could practically _hear_ Lydia's impatience. "Come on, Stiles, what are you looking for?"

Stiles sifted through some more garbage. His hand touched something soft. "Aw, gross." It was a black lacy panty. "This guy was a mess!"

"Like you're any better?" He heard her shuffled her feet. "So where's Derek?"

"He's… He was taken."

Lydia popped her head inside. "Taken?"

"It's a long story."

She frowned. "Why do you like him?"

Stiles shrugged, checking under another trash bag. A spider fell out. "Euugh. Look, he's not as bad as everyone thinks he is, okay? He's trying to do good. And, you know, that's pretty good for me. Considering."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "I mean why do you _like _him? I can understand liking me, but _Hale?_ He is pretty hot, but what is the deal?"

Stiles slowly turned around, horrified. "Who said I liked him? Don't look at me like that. _Lydia._ Oh God. Is it obvious? Okay, fine I really like him."

She raised a careful brow, urging him on.

"I don't know. He's a lot different than I thought. He's actually got a sense of humor. And he's not a complete asshole. And he's actually pretty cool—he's just lonely. God don't tell him I said he was lonely. But look—"

"Misery loves company?"

Stiles opened his mouth and then shut it. "I'm not miserable."

"But you're lonely, too. Just like him. Of course, that's _your_ fault. You pushed your best friend away. You know he misses you right? He talks about you now more than Allison. Which is surprising because I thought he was never going to shut up about Allison. But then winter break happened and you didn't hang out with him and now he won't shut up about you."

Stiles went back to sifting through all the garbage. "It's not completely my fault."

"Yeah he might've started hanging out with Isaac more, but you're the one that got all drama queen about it. Jealousy much?"

He glanced back but only to give her a frown. "Alright fine." He pushed away the broken surfboard. "I need to…fix things." He groaned as he came to the dirty laundry. Disgusting. He decided he wasn't even going to touch that so instead he just peered over the back seat into the trunk in a last ditch effort to find this object.

The trunk was empty except for a perfectly spherical blue rock and folded up piece of paper. "Holy God." The rock gleamed and as he squinted at it he noticed there were carvings along its surface.

"What? Did you find it?"

Stiles picked up the paper and the rock. It was smooth, despite the carvings. "I think I found it?"

Lydia's eyes widened at the rock. "What is that?"

Stiles grinned. "It's going to get your boyfriend back."

She looked unimpressed. "And what's that paper in your hand."

"I actually have no idea." He crawled back through the garbage and out the Volkswagen. When he jumped onto the pavement, he handed Lydia the sphere and unfolded the paper. There was basically a bunch of gibberish written on it. "It's just a bunch of gibberish," he said, frowning.

Lydia looked over his shoulder. "No, that's Latin."

"Latin?"

"Archaic Latin. It's um…" she narrowed her eyes, reading it carefully. "Wow this guy must have been a freak."

"Why? What does it say?"

She frowned and plucked the paper out of his hands. "I would have to study it to be sure. Compare it to some other stuff."

"Why? What does it say?"

She bit her lip. "It looks like a prayer. Weird and freaky. Like _Exorcist _freaky."

"Okay…" Stiles didn't know what to do with that information.

Lydia shrugged. "Whatever. What are you going to do with that rock thing?"

Stiles refolded the paper and shoved it in his pocket. He checked his watch. The sun was setting fast. If he wanted to find his way through the forest, he'd have to go now. "It would take too long to explain." He skipped over to his jeep and searched the backseat. "Dammit. I don't have a flashlight. Lydia, do you have a flashlight?"

Lydia folded her arms. "Maybe. Where are you going?"

"Into the woods—I have to leave now, it would be awesome if you could lend me that flashlight."

She smiled up at him and batted her lashes. "Only if you let me go with you."

He blanched. "Uhm, no…that's probably—"

"I want my boyfriend and mom back, Stilinski. I'm coming with you." She marched back to her car and pulled a flashlight out of her glove compartment. "I can't believe I'm getting in that thing with you…Jackson so owes me." She hopped in the passenger seat and tapped her fingers impatiently while Stiles' brain recovered functionality.

"Right, okay." He jumped in next to her. It wasn't like he could refuse her. He never could.

**A/N: Thank y'all for waiting these three weeks while I was on my hiatus! I got a good handle on my other projects so updates should be consistent once again! This chapter is a bit short, but I've got something special in store so I ended it early. /wink**

**Uhhhhhh, I don't know what else to say. I'm thankful for all the comments, well wishes, and assurances (esp. in regards for my er smutty plans). I know I'm not the best at personally responding, but I hope y'all know I appreciate every single message and they make me smile and brighten my day and keep me writing!**

**-J**


	19. Chapter 19

Lydia tapped her foot impatiently. That was the only sign Stiles had that clued him in to her distress. All of her other body language pointed to being bored. He tried to put in music but she turned it off, preferring to sit in silence. He tried to talk but couldn't think of anything to say.

All in all, when they started bumping through the woods, it was a relief. Lydia was suddenly very alert. She scanned the darkened forest until her eyes landed on the Hale house. This was where Stiles stopped and killed the engine.

"How far is it?"

"Pretty far."

"Good thing I chose sensible footwear then…"

Stiles and Lydia began their trek through the woods. First, they went to the river. Stiles gripped the blue talisman around his neck, assuring himself that he wouldn't fail. The he began upward, this time keeping along the edge of the waters. Lydia held the flashlight and she kept close, watching for anything weird.

The hike was different than before. Firstly, the sun had set and that made everything about fifty times creepier. Secondly, there was no fog. And Stiles felt uneasy with that second one. Like it was luring them in by making it easier for them to pass through the woods.

Indeed the second trip seemed to go much faster. Stiles felt they were at the flat top of the hill in no time. He had to wait for Lydia, though, so she could wrap her mind around the fact that somehow it was springtime in this area and freezing cold at the same time.

"This…is impossible," she said after about five minutes. "You can't even accredit it to California's weird weather—this is just straight impossible. Those flowers don't bloom during this time, and I'm fairly certain those trees over there have been extinct for a long time." She turned around. "And this plateau is a geological anomaly. The river flows on flat land through Beacon Hills, and I'm fairly certain we didn't cross city lines in the last half hour."

"That's what I said," Stiles replied, squinting for the familiar tunnel of trees.

Lydia shook her head. "Look—let's just hurry up."

They continued along the river. And within minutes Lydia's flashlight caught sight of the tunnel of trees. "We're really close," Stiles said. "Come on." He started in a steady jog toward the tunnel. Lydia followed close behind. Soon they were inside and it felt like a cave. Lydia's flashlight wandered over the area and reflected over the waters.

Rounding the bend, Stiles spotted the stone walls first. "I think it's down there."

"_You think?"_ Lydia hissed.

"I didn't get very far the first time." Stiles bit his lip, slowing his pace and treading carefully. But nothing happened to them and the walls loomed closer. It was brighter at the end—like it had lights. The closer they got to the end, the more Stiles felt anxious. He hadn't gotten this far before and he wondered why he was getting this far now.

The trees opened up and the river pooled inside a long oval of stone walls that were at least twice Stiles' height. At the top of these walls was the forest, growing so high that it blocked out most of the sky and he could only faintly see the twinkling of the stars between the branches.

Lydia held him back before he stepped any further. "Watch out."

She shined her light at the waters were just at the tips of his shoes. The ground stopped there all of the sudden and instead there were round, flat rocks like pegs in the river. They served as stepping stones up to a staggered cliff face that looked like a giant stairway up to the top of the walls.

Stiles licked his lips. "I guess—" He stopped mid sentence when he saw the first stepping stone burn a bright blue. "Holy shit."

"Are you sure your boyfriend is here," Lydia said.

"I have no fucking clue, but I'm pretty sure this place is the place I'm looking for. And he's not my boyfriend."

"Yet." Lydia tacked on with a reserved smirk.

Stiles wanted to argue with that but Lydia stepped past him and onto the first stone. "Are you going to come or what?" Stiles hastened to follow.

"He's not my boyfriend," Stiles muttered.

The next stone lit up. They jumped across. "Are you going to give him the kiss of his life when you see him?" she asked as the next stone lit and they jumped again. "Because if you aren't, that'd be a total waste of this rescue mission."

They jumped again. "You know I don't know—"

"Oh please," Lydia said, "I know you're thinking about it. Just take a goddamn chance." The next stone Lydia had to catch Stiles' hand so he wouldn't stumble into the water. "If he likes you, then it won't be a problem. If he doesn't, then you can move on right?"

Stiles bit his lip. With his track record, he'd pine after Derek for like _ever_ and never ever move on. So if he did take a chance, it might hurt like a bitch if Derek rejected him. He didn't know if he could take that since he was only just beginning to move on from Lydia. And even now he still thought of her as the most perfect girl in the whole of creation. Worse, what if Derek didn't reject him? Yeah it might hurt to be rejected, but he _knew_ rejection—it was like a default state for any of his crushes. But what if Derek didn't reject him? That thought was scarier. Yeah, he thought about him in many a sexual context (even jacked off more than once to the thought of banging Derek) but in real life, he had no goddamn clue what to do.

"Uh, yeah," Stiles agreed, voice strained as they jumped onto the last stone. They were faced with the giant, stone stairs now.

"Look, it's not like you're declaring your undying _love_ for him—that's be way weird. You're just declaring your attraction. That's how it started with Jackson and me, you know. We just sort of liked each other, dated for awhile, and then fell in love. It's a process." They climbed up onto the first edge and started up. "I mean for gods sake, you should at least relieve the tension a little."

"What are you talking about?"

Lydia gave him a knowing look. "Seeing you two together, however briefly, is enough to realize that there is some serious tension there. The kind of 'will they or won't they' tension. So which is it? Are you?"

Stiles was uncomfortable. He fidgeted under her rigid stare.

"You better say yes."

And damn he couldn't deny her. "…Yes."

"Good."

"I thought you hated Derek," Stiles said as they continued up.

"I do. But I hate unresolved sexual tension even more." She grabbed his arm before they climbed up the last ridge. "Do you hear that?" she said, answering the question on his face.

"No?"

"Exactly."

She was right. Not even the grating songs of crickets could be heart. Stiles tried not to find this disturbing—and he failed miserably. His eye started twitching. He couldn't get nervous now. Not when Princess Derek was at stake. That kept him going. Waving ahead, they climbed the last ridge.

The shrine almost looked like how Deaton had described it. They entered upon a circular nest of trees knitted together so well he couldn't see past any of them. Inside this clearing was a large pool with dark waters. There was a stepping path similar to the one below that led to a tiny island in the center where a little wooden house stood over a stone basin. Around the pool was a lining of bright purple Wolfsbane and a fluffy green plant that Stiles could only assume was the absinthium.

It was also, somehow, more silent than before and it hurt their ears just to hear the harsh puffs of their own breaths scratching against it.

"So now you have to tell me what's going on." Lydia asked.

Stiles pulled the blue orb from his jacket pocket and tested its weight, glancing between Lydia and the little island.

"Long story short… there's a crazy ass demon thing making everyone prick their fingers on the spindle, and this thing in my hand is the equivalent of true love's kiss."

Lydia was unimpressed. "I get the _Sleeping Beauty_ reference, but really?"

"It sounded much better in my head."

She scoffed. "Whatever. So this thing is going to wake everyone up? Explain to me this." She gestured to the arena.

"Even longer story short…the demon lives here—sort of. It's a little head aching to think about. But that thing over there is supposed to be like a seal to keep it out of our world. Except it's missing this." He lifted the sphere. "Which is actually the thing that is going to seal it back and make everything okay again."

Lydia nodded slowly. "You suck at explaining things. But I got the idea. So we just put it back and then…?"

"Just come on." He grabbed her hand and led her to the edge of the pool. She looked wary, and it showed on her face that she'd much rather be told the whole plan before proceeding, but she followed him anyway. "There's some magic words to say," Stiles answered once they were a couple of steps into the pool. The stones were smaller than they were before. "And I gotta sprinkle the magic dust. It's all very fantasy RPG."

Lydia rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. "You're such a loser." They crossed a few more stones and Lydia said, "Hey, what magic words do you have to say?"

"These ones." Stiles reached into his pocket and pulled out the paper Deaton had given him. He handed them over to Lydia.

She unfolded the paper and scrutinized the writing, letting Stiles lead her to the final stone. "It's Latin," she said, "but it's not like the other one. The creepy one." She frowned, stopping just before they jumped onto the grassy circle. "Just wait." Her brows constricted and her frown deepened. "Let me see that other one."

Stiles felt a wave of impatience, but he humored her. "Lydia, we don't have all night."

"Just hold on." She unfolded the other paper, the one from the mystery machine, and she put them side-by-side, comparing the two. She didn't look happy.

"What? What is it?" Stiles let his curiosity get the better of his impatience.

"That van… You said it belonged to the second guy found down the river, right? So I'm going to assume that he took that blue thing from the seal, right?"

"Well I think it was his father, the first victim."

She nodded shortly. "In any case, they were dumb enough to remove it—which is why all this is happening, right?"

"Right…?"

"Except the guy had it in his car, which was in Beacon Hills, and he didn't live in Beacon Hills—"

"Well actually his mom said the cops took it—"

"No but when I found it there was a traffic violation on the windshield—from Beacon Hills. They must have just told her that they were impounding it. But it was in Beacon Hills the whole time."

"Okay? What's your point? He drove the car to the woods where he was killed. And it stayed here long enough to get a ticket."

"But he died _after_ his father. Who, like you said, took this thing in the first place. So he had it with him when he came _back_ to Beacon Hills. Why would he come back to Beacon Hills and into the forest where his father was killed?"

And then it clicked. "He was going to return it."

Lydia held the second paper up. "And he had _this_ with it."

"And you lost me."

Lydia looked heavenward. "You really need to study this language."

"It's a dead language!"

"Whatever!" She heaved. "This one, the one Deaton gave you, is a Robert Frost poem translated into Latin."

"Robert Frost?"

Lydia looked horrified. "Do you pay attention _at all_ in English? Never mind. I don't care. I also think there are a few random lines from the _Kama Sutra_ used very…choicely for innuendo. But I won't repeat them. Basically, this is bullshit. Hilarious bullshit, if we weren't in so dire a situation, but bullshit nonetheless. "

"That can't be," Stiles said. "Are you sure you learned the right Latin?"

"This, on the other hand," she said, holding up the other paper and ignoring his comment, "is something entirely different. I may make Jackson watch _The Notebook_ every chance I get, but sometimes I let him pick the movie. One time he picked _The Exorcist._ And this? This sounds just like the Rite of Exorcism. I mean there are some discrepancies—like it doesn't make use of Jesus or God but rather a God of light. Like Zeus or something. And it never says anything about Heaven of Hell, just a "prison". But it' damn similar. Like, I wouldn't be surprised if that guy just edited it from Wikipedia or something."

Stiles chewed his lip nervously. "So it's bullshit, too? We're doomed?" He couldn't, for the life of him, figure why Deaton would give him a fake spell, but it didn't matter because they were totally screwed.

"Oh it's all bullshit," a voice said behind them.

Startled, the two of them turned around.

"…Derek?"

**A/N: Been busy this week so this was all I could write.**

**Thanks so much for all your welcome backs last week and your encouragement! Let me know any comments you guys have—I love them all! And if you have questions feel free to drop me a message!**

**-J**


	20. Chapter 20

"…Derek?"

Derek's lips twitched. "Not quite." He flexed his hands. "This is a good body." His voice was flat—nearly robotic. And he held his body tall and straight but with the air of someone who felt too short for their own skin. He pointed to Stiles. "I'd like to have the seal now."

Lydia gripped Stiles' shoulder tight and pulled him onto the island.

"Don't do that." In a blink Derek was standing right before them on the platform they just jumped from. "I'm going to need the seal."

Stiles swallowed, trying to figure out what to say. But all he could focus on were Derek's black eyes. Lydia clawed into his upper arm. "I don't understand," Stiles finally said.

"You should give it to me before you all die." Derek loomed over them even though he was on the platform. Lydia pulled Stiles a step back. "If you want your friend back, I suggest you do as I say."

"You're planning to kill us," Stiles said.

"The demon is planning to kill you. Now give me the seal."

"What's going on?" Lydia asked.

Derek slowly looked at her. "There are things you do not know." He eyed Stiles. "You know only a little…but most of it is a lie told by the demon. He took possession of your friend in order to lead you here. He plays games, but he will be here to kill you if you do not give me the seal."

Stiles' gripped tight on the rock. "How do I know you aren't the demon?"

"I am the guardian of the seal. I possess some powers like the demon, but unlike the demon I cannot possess a man unless he is willing. Your friend entrusted his body to me."

Stiles frowned. "I don't believe you. I don't believe Derek would do that."

Derek's body went very still for a moment. "He says," the guardian began, "that you and he have not watched _Iron Man 2_."

Stiles' face turned bright red. "That doesn't prove anything." It only made Stiles more afraid. If this thing could possess a man and know his every thought…then anyone could be possessed and he would be none the wiser. _Which…is what probably happened with Deaton—shit. _ He grabbed the necklace at his throat.

"That's keeping you awake," Robo-Derek said.

"Why would a demon give this to me?"

"He needed you to find the seal for him."

That made Stiles think. Why would a demon need Stiles to find the seal for him? It was sitting in Beacon Hills the whole time, and if he could find in a few hours then why didn't the demon do the same?

"It doesn't matter if you believe me or not. Those words," he gestured to the paper in Lydia's hands, "are nothing more than bullshit—as you say. There is nothing you can do except give me the seal."

Lydia and Stiles exchanged glances. Neither knew if they should believe Robo-Derek.

"You don't have to trust me. I know the power this body possesses and I will use it. But your friend will not like the both of you dead. So give me the seal." He stretched out an open hand.

Stiles hesitated. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked at the blue orb in his hand. But before he could make a decision, a cold wind rustled the trees. Robo-Derek pulled his hand back and straightened his back.

"He's coming," he said. "If you give the seal to me now, you may escape with your lives."

The water rippled, washing up to their toes on the little island. Lydia and Stiles took another step back, nearly hitting the little shrine behind them. Glancing back, he saw that the house rested on a small tree stump and the doorway had a tiny lip that led to the rim of the basin where a little canal had been carved in a spiral along the edge leading to the bottom of the bowl. And at the bottom, inside three little claws, there was a tiny insignia just like the one he'd seen on Deaton's map. Stiles looked at the sphere in his hand. It's dim inner glow allowed him to make out the markings on all sides. But one was larger than the rest and it matched the one in the basin.

He looked back at Robo-Derek who was significantly less composed since a second ago. His lip twitched in involuntary anger. His black eyes had fire behind them and the water around the stone in which he stood bubbled rapidly.

"Give me the seal before he comes."

Lydia glanced between Robo-Derek and the island. "Stiles, he can't step onto the island."

Robo-Derek's black eyes blinked out and Stiles was once again looking into Derek's pretty hazel ones. "Stiles, you have to give him the seal. It's the only way. _He's coming."_

Stiles clutched the sphere. Was that really Derek? He didn't know. He sounded like Derek, looked like Derek, acted like Derek. Stiles looked down at the blue surface again, willing it to give him some answers.

And then it did.

The symbols blurred in his eyes and the wind around them picked up even faster, rolling through his dark hair and flapping leaves into their faces. Lydia's grip on Stiles' arm tightened.

"_What are we going to do?"_ she hissed. _"Think of something."_

Stiles squinted as the symbols began to rework themselves into something visible. And when they became clear again, he saw words in English.

"What are you doing?" Derek asked, voice turning edgy. His eyes darkened around the edges.

Lydia inhaled sharply. That definitely wasn't Derek. _"Stiles."_

But Stiles wasn't paying attention. He was turning the orb in his palms, reading the words as they appeared. The inner glow flared bright and Robo-Derek growled. His ears and teeth elongated and hair appeared along his jaw. And then, out of the woods five pairs of glowing eyes dotted into view. Lydia's muffled squeak broke Stiles' concentration. Slowly, the betas crawled from the thrush. More wolf than human, at this point, saliva dripped from their mouths. Dark blue veins crossed their faces and concentrated in the dark circles of their eye sockets.

"Derek," Stiles breathed, unable to take his eyes from his best friend turned monstrosity.

"He's here," Robo-Derek said. This time his voice was soft and quiet—like a snake, "and it's your last chance to _give me the seal."_

"You're the demon," Stiles said, looking into Robo-Derek's black eyes. He held up the orb. "There is no guardian. It says only humans can touch the seal. The only way _you_ can possess it, is if I _give_ it to you _willingly."_

At that Robo-Derek broke the charade. He composed himself. The water stopped churning and the betas paused at the edge of the pond, awaiting instruction. Robo-Derek didn't smile. He didn't have any expression at all. All was silent once more. And just as Lydia and Stiles were beginning to question their sanity, Robo-Derek spoke.

"Only humans may pass on the island," he said, "and only humans may touch the seal. This is true."

"Right so you can stop threatening us with the wolves," Stiles retorted. They had the upper hand here.

"These wolves can't hurt you, it's true. But they can hurt each other."

Stiles blood ran cold.

"They can hurt this body."

He was going to be sick.

"Give me the seal or they'll kill each other."

Lydia's lip trembled. "Stiles _do_ something."

"I can't give it to him," he shot back.

Lydia tugged on his arm, giving him a sharp look. "Just give it to him."

"Lydia, I've seen enough movies to know that the bad guy is just going to kill us all once we give him what he wants."

"Scott," Robo-Derek said, "kill Jackson."

Scott pounced on Jackson.

Stiles panicked. Frantically he searched the orb for answered. He turned it around and on all sides, scanning quickly the new information that appeared.

Scott slashed Jackson's gut.

"No!" Lydia screamed.

Jackson fought back, though and managed to tear into Scott's throat with his teeth. They rolled across the grass, clawing and growling with blood spurting everywhere. Their wounds healed quickly, though, and neither of them could get a fatal blow.

"Boyd," Robo-Derek said, "help him."

And then it was two on Jackson.

"Do something!" Lydia shouted. Eyes wet with tears.

"I'm trying! I'm trying!"

Jackson was losing.

"Isaac, kill them all."

And then Stiles found it.

"Erica," Robo-Derek started.

"No!" Lydia shouted, tears sprouting in her eyes.

"One last chance," he said with a small smile to Stiles. "Give me the seal."

Lydia's hands trembled, and that's when she remembered what she was holding. Taking a breath she tossed the Robert Frost one to the ground and lifted the other. "This has to mean something, doesn't it?"

Robo-Derek lost his smile.

She read. _"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…"_

Derek's body went still except for his eyes. They were on fire.

Stiles took his chance then.

_"…Infernalis adversarii, omnis legio…"_

Carefully, Stiles lowered the glowing sphere into the basin so that the symbols slid together neatly inside the teeth. When it clicked into place, a bright blue light burst in a wave, blinding him. Lydia covered her eyes, temporarily broken from her chant. Robo-Derek, shielding his eyes, finished his command to Erica. Lydia cried out, squinted through the bright light, and read as best she could.

_"Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te!"_

There was a loud, agonizing scream behind them that Stiles thought for a second that it was Scott. Fighting through the blinding light, he felt for the sphere again. He turned it until a sharp point pricked his palm. Hissing, he let his blood drip over the sphere. The light dimmed and then extinguished. Colored spots danced in his eyes and soon he was able to see again.

There were several clicking noises and then water poured from the lip of the shrine. It dripped down into the ridge of the bowl and swirled down into the bottom of the basin. It quickly filled up to touch the blood on the sphere. Instead of turning red like he thought, the water remained pure, bubbling over the top of the sphere and filling the rest of the basin. The lip of the shrine closed and no more water came.

It wasn't silent behind him. He could hear heavy, slightly broken breathing. But he could also hear the chirping of crickets and the hoot of the owls.

Swallowing, he turned around. The arena was gone. He glanced back there was no basin and no seal. Instead, he stood in the dark forests of Beacon Hills. Five bleeding—but healing—wolves were piled in a mess of leaves.

Derek was crashed at Lydia's feet. She crouched down and checked his pulse. "He's alive," she concluded. Once she concluded that Derek was okay, she ran over to the pile of wolves. Shoving everyone off, she found her Jackson and cradled his badly beaten head in her lap. It was only a few minutes before he looked about as handsome as ever. Stiles shook his head.

Isaac woke first, having sustained fewer injuries. He was confused but as soon as he saw Scott's mangled, bitten, and torn body he flew to his side. He checked all the wounds and when he concluded that he was alive and healing, he sat back, head in his hands. Stiles heaved a sigh, glanced at Derek, and then moved to crouch next to Isaac.

"Hey," he said. His voice was rough and tired. The adrenaline was rapidly wearing off and he didn't realize how much being in fight or flight response mode would take a toll on him. Now he did. Isaac looked up. Swallowing all of his pride Stiles said, "It's not your fault."

"I remember it though. It felt like a dream, but I remember it."

Erica woke up next and seeing the same thing Isaac had, she started crying.

"Well it's over." He looked at Isaac and Erica both.

Erica nodded, heaving still. She was going into shock. Boyd got up next and once he had ascertained that it was in fact not a dream went to Erica for comfort. Both of them didn't let go for a very long time.

Scott's eyes slowly blinked open. Groaning, both Isaac and Stiles touched his shoulder to keep him down. Isaac shifted awkwardly, stood up, and walked over to Erica and Boyd. Stiles made a mental note to thank him and let a small piece of his hatred from the crazy wolf chip away.

"Hey, man," Stiles muttered with a half-smile that wasn't as reassuring as he'd have hoped. "How are ya doing?"

Scott grimaced and took a minute to look around. "It wasn't a dream." His eyes were on Lydia and Jackson.

"It wasn't your fault. You were being controlled."

"I was…" He clutched his head, sitting up.

"It's okay…"

Stiles nodded reassuringly. Scott hesitated and then did the same. They sat for a few minutes as the last of his healing took place. And when Scott got a good hold on what happened he said:

"I'm sorry."

Stiles raised a brow. "You're sorry? No, man, I'm sorry."

"I treated you like shit," Scott said. He looked over Stiles' shoulder at the still unconscious Derek Hale. "I treated him like shit. But mostly you."

Stiles shook his head. "I treated you like shit."

Scott started to protest and then he cracked a smile. "Why don't we just call it even?"

"Does it mean that we can be best friends again?"

Scott grinned.

"That means you can't exclude me because I don't have super powers. And you can't pull the wolf card to patronize me."

"I never meant to do that."

"And if you're going to hang out with Isaac exclusively it better be because I'm out of the country or something."

Scott rolled his eyes. "I thought we were calling it even?"

Stiles bit his lip. "Okay I just needed to be clear here."

"Then I need to be clear. What's the deal with Derek?"

"Eeeerrrr ummmmmmmmm…. Well. I sort of like him. _Like_, like him."

He could see the disapproval in Scott's eyes, but it was more important what he said at that point. "Fine. I won't say anything bad about it. If you promise not to get jealous of Isaac. And to never stop hanging out with me."

"Done."

"Best friends?"

"Best friends." Stiles tackled him into a bear hug. A heavy weight lifted in his heart then. The loneliness and despair he'd felt for the last couple months was gone. He had his best friend back. "I feel like we should make out," Stiles said, "it's one of those moments."

Scott chuckled, slapping his shoulder. "I think someone else is waiting for a kiss from you."

That made Stiles flush bright red and pull back. "I can't kiss someone without knowing whether or not they want me to. There's usually a look involved, you know? He's asleep."

Scott snorted. "He's like Sleeping Beauty. And you're the hero of this story so you should totally kiss him awake."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "You just want to see him freak out."

"Yes."

"I don't think that's fair. I think he's traumatized enough from being demon possessed. The guy values control you know. _And_ I'm only partly hero. Lydia did most of the legwork."

"Damn straight," Lydia said, still clutching Jackson to her chest even though he was awake and well. He didn't seem to mind, though…

"Oh my God just kiss him," Erica interrupted, "I can practically taste his impatience from all the way over here."

That made Stiles blush bright red again. It was moments like these that he hated his complexion. Scott shoved his shoulder. Shakily, Stiles stood up and walked over to Derek's side. It was true. He was feigning unconsciousness. He could tell by the slightly annoyed twitch in his left eyebrow. Damn those eyebrows.

He kneeled down. "_Sleeping Beauty_ isn't even a running theme in this entire plot," he muttered, "It's like a random thing that just came up because of circumstance. I mean really."

Derek's lip twitched. But Stiles couldn't tell if he was growing more annoyed or was going to break character and laugh. Weirdly, that gave Stiles confidence. Derek was clearly waiting for him to kiss him—and odd sort of development that he almost couldn't wrap his head around but still—and that meant he had a bit of power over the situation. He could milk this.

"Since you're asleep, I think I'll take the opportunity to tell you that you are one bootylicious motherfucker. I mean damn those abs. And damn those arms. And just damn your everything."

"We can hear you," Jackson said.

Stiles heard them all start to get up.

"Come on."

"Before it gets more disgusting."

"Should have known Stiles would be classy as hell."

"Cover your ears. And eyes." That was Scott.

"We need at least a hundred feet—"

"I actually want to see this."

"Gross, Isaac."

"What it's kind of cu—"

"Don't say it's cute. Just don't." That was Boyd.

And then they were too far away for Stiles to hear them. Rolling his eyes, he smiled mischievously down at Derek. "There are so many things I'd like to do to you. Blowsies in a parking lot is one of them—"

Derek was frowning.

"—But for right now, I'd just like to kiss you. Because I kind of like you. More than just carnal lusty desire. I like you despite your useless degree."

At that Derek quit. He sighed impatiently, opened his eyes, grabbed Stiles by the neck and pulled him into a long kiss. It was mostly pretty chaste. There was no tongue, but there was plenty of soft, curling lip action that made heat spread from his head all the way to his toes.

He only stopped because his neck began to ache from the awkward position. And even then Derek sat up to meet him again, pulling him into more soft kisses. He didn't even mind the slight scratch of his stubble along his chin and cheek.

Derek pulled an inch away. "I like you, too," he said half-breathless and half-annoyed like he was admitting some dirty little secret.

Stiles tried not too look so embarrassed. "Well…" He looked everywhere and then at Derek. "That…was my first kiss."

Derek looked away, cheeks turning a bit red. "I hope…it was okay."

"It was okay. More than okay."

Derek didn't meet his eyes. "I was supposed to let you kiss me. You are the hero after all."

Stiles rolled his eyes, sticking out his tongue. He was tired of this trope already. "Whatever. But if it makes you feel better—" He took Derek's face in his hands and one long chaste kiss. "And thus I rescued Sleeping Beauty from the evil demon and all of Beacon Hills woke from its slumber and was saved."

"Oh my God you are such a freaking _nerd."_

_Fin_

**A/N:**

**Thank you guys so much for reading! All of your follows, reviews, and support mean so much to me! I've never actually written a fanfic before so this was amazing! I actually initially intended for this to be fluffy Sterek fic just for personal fulfillment but then it grew legs and a plot and I ended up running with it. Baaah.**

**Anyway, there ****_is_**** more to come. The main plot is done but I feel I haven't tied up all the loose ends. Those will be covered in the epilogue ****_along with some…smut._**** Fair warning. I rated it M with a purpose. Go big or go home as they say.**

**I hope you liked the resolution, though? Any questions please ask so I may try to answer in the epilogue. **

**xoxo**

**-J**


	21. Epilogue

They'd been dating _forever._ At least that's what it seemed like. Life was generally pretty calm aside from the kerfuffles with supernatural and/or paranormal entities that happened on-and-off every month. But one thing remained pretty constant: _second base._

Derek and Stiles had spent a good deal of time together since what happened in December. Stiles was even proud to announce that Derek was his New Year's kiss—and he announced it _a lot._ Because, yeah, Stiles liked kissing Derek. Every time they'd go out together he looked forward to the end-of-date kisses. He actually had to initiate most of them since Derek suddenly turned unduly shy like a flower that only bloomed under specific conditions. (But flower analogies were next to dog jokes—that is, off the table—so he kept that to himself.)

In any case, Derek was obviously not good at the dating game. He was romantic—for sure. And actually a pretty decent guy to hang around; his dry sense of humor and subtle expressions grew on Stiles to the point where he could practically read his mind. Except for one thing: why were they stuck on _second base._

Second base was awesome—thrilling, chilling, and bittersweet. They had steamy make out sessions every other week. They were, as Stiles recalled, the hottest, most rewarding experiences of his short life. But they were probably the most painful, too.

It'd start out just a simple kiss. Sweet, poignant, and with a promise of something more. And then it would escalate. Hands went places—under shirts, around necks, through hair. They'd pressed close and then tongues would somehow enter the equation. But as soon as any hand—mostly Stiles' hands—went _to_ the belt, Derek would break it off. Or he'd just move a little away, kiss him a few more times, and then send him home.

By the way, he'd gotten a loft. A shitty loft with a gigantic hole in the wall, but a loft nonetheless. And it had furniture, which was only a little bit funny because it meant that Derek walked into a furniture store—and by the looks of it, it was probably _Ikea—_and that was so damn domestic that Stiles had to chuckle a little every time he saw the pieces.

Most of their steamier make-out sessions happened in aforementioned loft.

So it probably couldn't quite be quantified as second base, but Stiles wasn't going to set himself back to first. He just wanted to know why they hadn't done anything aside from make-out.

It wasn't because he was underage. Because he'd turned eighteen two weeks ago.

It couldn't be because Derek didn't want to. He wanted to. There was no mind reading involved in this assessment. He'd felt those boners. He'd told Derek he would take care of it, but was obviously rejected.

It couldn't be because Derek didn't _like_ him. He assured Stiles of his affection every time he dropped by just to sit while Stiles did his homework only for a single kiss in the end. And one time Stiles snorted Dr. Pepper through his nose and after nearly choking up all his organs and generally making a fool of himself, Derek had told him that he really liked him. He could go on listing all the embarrassing things he'd done, but he didn't really feel like recounting them.

So Stiles didn't know what the problem was. And it was driving him insane. It was also driving his masturbation habits insane. And the number of times he had to clear his browser history. Basically he had ninety-nine problems and about ninety of them were his hormones.

He was going to find out what the problem was. Tonight. Because they were meeting—just the two of them—for a sort of pre-Independence Day celebration. And they were going to watch _Independence Day_, make-out, and probably not get farther than that.

Stiles had his outfit planned three days in advance. They'd seen and spoken to each other several times in the last three days, but it had always been with the pack. (The pack had gradually become a tighter-knit group, even with all the problems they had, and they had also managed to be around every single time Derek and Stiles wound up alone together.)

His outfit was as provocative as he could manage without being too obvious about it. Snug, v-neck black tee and black skinny jeans. Comfortable. But it also accentuated his chest—which was fleshing out nicely if he said so himself—and his butt: the moneymaker.

Last minute touches on his hair and only the tiniest bit of cologne at the base of his neck and he was ready to go. His dad rolled his eyes at him as he cascaded down the steps.

"Derek's?" he shouted at Stiles when he was already a foot out the door.

"Yeah I'm late!"

"You better be here in the morning."

Stiles' face burned bright red. "Right." He didn't look at his father—who was looking particularly smug.

"Condoms," his father added for good measure.

Stiles thought his face was going to burn off. "I'm not going to answer that."

"Smart."

Stiles escaped as quick as he could. Twenty minutes later he was at Derek's shitty loft. _I should really stop thinking of it as his "shitty" loft otherwise I'm going to actually say it to his face. Besides, Derek dressed it up pretty nice. Live-able. Sexy-times-able._

He was up there in a second. Derek opened the door looking a little frazzled and breathless but always smoking. "Hi," he breathed.

"Heeeeyyy," Stiles greeted, wagging his eyebrows. "I've got Dr. Pepper." He held up the liter bottle.

Derek's eyes swept up and down. His jaw went a little slack and his eyes widened. "Um, come in," he said, regaining a little composure.

Stiles dipped under his arm, set the soda on the counter, turned, and leaned on the granite surface. He smiled at Derek's pink tinged face when he saw.

Derek shut the door but didn't move. "Um. Movie."

"Lead the way."

Stiles stared at Derek's ass so pointedly that he was sure Derek could feel it. And when they were at the couch, Stiles lounged in such a way so that his shirt rode up to show just a sliver to skin and happy trail. He waited patiently—and with bedroom eyes that he was sure Derek could see in his periphery—as he set up the movie.

The living area was just a television set, a hideous shag (really, Derek?) rug, and a long black leather couch that was well worn and hardly squeaked at all. Stiles was sure Derek didn't find these particular pieces of furniture in a store. Stiles was in a love-hate relationship with the rug. It was tacky as hell but it was also really soft and on more than one occasion Stiles imagined taking Derek right there. This was one of those occasions.

Derek sat down a few minutes later. Stiles spread out his arms on the back of the couch, scooting in close until they were practically molded together. It took Derek a second but he eventually relaxed into his shoulder.

The movie began.

Twenty minutes in, as Stiles was fathoming what his next seduction move was going to be, he got impatient and decided to swing his leg over Derek's and sit on his lap. "Fuck this movie," he mumbled into a slow kiss.

"What are you doing?" Derek asked between kisses, hands sliding up Stiles' sides.

"Trying to seduce you."

"Trying…" His voice hitched for a second and he pulled away. "To seduce me?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Derek, I'm basically in love with yo—"

Derek crushed his lips into Stiles', cutting him off before taking it back and turning it light. "Sorry," he mumbled, pulling back only to press his face into the crook of Stiles' neck and resting his hands on his hips. He took a deep breath, burying his nose even closer.

Stiles was a little whiplashed but got over it quickly, sliding his hands around Derek's shoulders and closing his eyes as Derek pressed soft kisses into his neck. "What was that for?"

"You smell good. And you look good." Derek mumbled.

"I always look good."

"Even better. And…"

"And?"

"And you said…"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yeah I guess I did. You don't have to say anything you don't mean. I meant it. I did. And Derek?"

Derek was reluctant to look into Stiles' eyes but he eventually did.

"I also mean it when I say I'm trying to seduce you." He held eye contact as his hand slipped down between them, raking down Derek's chest and edging near the belt. He barely felt it, but it seemed like Derek's heart was beating right out of his chest. Derek made no move even when Stiles's hand grazed the top of the leather. And then when his fingertips touched the denim fabric, he twitched ever so slightly.

Stiles grabbed him then, feeling the raging boner pushing through Derek's jeans. Derek's eyes squeezed shut as he let out a choked sigh.

"God…"

Stiles let his hand roam up and down the fabric, feeling Derek's hard bulge. He bent forward and pressed a kiss to his lips and then his jaw and then down his neck until he was gently nibbling above Derek's collar.

"Fuck." Derek snatched Stiles' hand away from his pants. He bowed his head, resting it on Stiles' chest. "First you're underage and that's a damn good excuse, but now you aren't and I have no idea what to do."

"I've never done any of this, you know. All I have is my research from the Internet."

Derek's shoulders slumped. "Yeah but I… I feel like I should know more. I'm older. I _have_ had sex. But it wasn't very good—the entire thing was awful—and I'm fairly certain sex doesn't really…happen that way. I honestly don't know what the hell I'm doing."

Stiles flashed a grin and cupped Derek's jaw. "Hey, it's okay. Besides, when the hell do you know what you're doing?"

Derek frowned. "Very funny."

Stiles kissed his frown invariably making it disappear. "We don't have—"

"No." Derek surprised himself. "I, uh." He paused to figure out what he was trying to say. "I think I want you to keep seducing me."

"Done."

Derek sounded shy and a little uncertain, but as soon as that word was uttered all pretext was lost. The kisses were not soft or sweet. They were hard and fast against each other's lips, unable to get enough. Shirts were stripped off as soon as they could and then Stiles had Derek on his back—on the floor and he was kneeling between his legs and unlatching the belt.

The zipper came down. Stiles bent down and nibbled around the bulge in Derek's underwear. His belly contracted at Stiles' touch, and he arched a little, reaching around to grasp the stringy rug.

Slowly, maddeningly, Stiles slid Derek's briefs down along with his pants, revealing the throbbing red cock pressed up along Derek's hipbone. Stiles watched the pupils in those hazel eyes blow wide with unfocused desire. He watched a flush spread under the fluffy black hairs on his chest and up to his stubbly neck.

Stiles slicked a finger up from the base of his balls to the tip of the head.

"Don't…be a tease," Derek said.

Stiles smiled, moving instead to kiss his way up Derek's chest to his lips and then bending back to take a good look.

Just looking at Derek like that made him painfully aware of his own erection pushing at the hem of his tight jeans.

"Your…" Derek started. And then just deciding actions speak louder than words, he sat up, shook out of his restrictive pants, and then helped Stiles out of his.

"Better?"

"Better." Derek took a long sweeping look at him.

Stiles raked his hands down Derek's torso, loving the rippling muscles under his touch. "God you're hot." He bent into a long kiss that had them tumbling back to the floor.

Derek hitched up his legs, letting Stiles settle more neatly into his hips. He broke off their kisses for a second to say, "I am in love with you, you know."

Stiles smiled full of embarrassment. "Well. I mean. Alright. You didn't. But. That's awesome. I should just shut up."

"Don't."

"Then I should tell you that you literally have the hottest body I've ever seen. And all I want to do right now is fuck you."

Derek's eyes widened. But not with fear. Desire. Face flushed he asked, "Are you sure?"

"I'm damn sure. What about you?"

"I've never done it with a guy."

"I've read everything the Internet has to offer."

Derek licked his lips. His cock twitched. "Do it then."

Stiles bent back and reached into the pocket of his jeans for a packet of lube and a condom. He rolled the condom on and tore open the packet of lube. He'd read this on the Internet. This wasn't rocket science. So why were his hands still shaking? Stiles took a second to find grounding. He looked Derek up and down. He was watching him carefully, eyes full of lust.

Swallowing, Stiles slid his hands around Derek's inner thigh. He crooked his thumb just below his balls where the tiny hole was. He was going to do this right. So, Stiles spread lube on his hands and gently opened him up and slid a finger in. Derek twitched a bit at the new sensation.

"Okay?"

"Weird but okay. You're not going to hurt me."

One hand on Derek's cock and the other relaxing his hole and it was short work before Stiles felt a small round bulge inside of Derek. At that touch Derek shuddered, eyes squeezing shut and muscles twitching along his legs and stomach.

"Right there… You can put it in now. Do it."

Stiles applied the last of his lube over his condom and then inch-by-inch he pushed in. It was tight and hot around his cock and for a second he couldn't move while Derek readjusted around him. Both were panting, tangled into each other, and neither daring to move first.

Derek couldn't help it; he nudged upward, making Stiles push back instinctively. "Go on…move." Achingly, Derek hiked his legs up, prompting Stiles into action.

With slow motion, Stiles crawled out and then thrust in. He hit the sweet spot perfectly. Derek arched on his back, gasping and reaching down to touch himself. Stiles, gaining confidence, slid his hands down Derek's sides and stopped to grip the carpet. He thrust in and out again. This time he didn't quite hit it and his thrust was a bit more uneven. He kept going. And eventually they came to a rhythm, pushing into each other, into the growing tension twisting in their gut and the building heat under their balls.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Stiles muttered, rolling in and out. He knew now where Derek's prostate was and it became simply a matter of keeping the rhythm to hit it with every thrust and pull. And every time he did, Derek's chest gave a little ripple and he let out a tiny gasp.

The tension twisted down into his balls too soon. "I'm gonna," Stiles choked, trying to keep the rhythm. But his thrusts started to become erratic.

"Me too—"

Stiles came, heat exploding through his entire body. He arched back, toes curling, mind going blank. "Holy God."

Derek gave himself a few quick pumps but as soon as he felt Stiles' heat fill him, he came all over himself.

Exhausted, Stiles pulled out, tossed off the condom, and collapsed on the rug next to Derek, panting like there wasn't enough air in the world.

In the background, there were the explosions of an alien-human war.

They lay there for several minutes before either had the energy to speak.

"Next time I'm going to fuck you," Derek said, curling into Stiles' side.

"Fine with me."

* * *

**A/N:**

**And that's a wrap, folks~ **

**Thank y'all for you reading. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing for you! **

**As per usual if you have questions go ahead and ask! **

**I don't know when/if I'll come back to write another story. Maybe I will again after season 3 of TW. I don't know. But I will check back here for comments, questions, etc. I always love hearing commentary so please continue to comment! **

**Thanks so much again!**

**-J**

**EDIT (30 March 2013) : ****I'm pretty sure I forgot to write about what Stiles was making in his "project" for really dumb reasons-sleep-deprived mind etc etc-but jsyk he was building a TARDIS cabinet.**

**Take lessons from me-don't forget your loose threads.**


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